


Netherworld

by miss_grey



Series: Netherworld Trilogy [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Cas is his guardian spirit, Dean can see the supernatural, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Warning for mental abuse and mis-identified mental health issues, but they're still bros, sam and dean are not brothers, shit is about to get really weird, ya get me?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-22
Updated: 2014-02-15
Packaged: 2017-12-30 03:04:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 32,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1013328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_grey/pseuds/miss_grey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean has always been able to see the supernatural.  Cas has always been with him.  It just took Dean a while to figure out not everyone could see Cas.  Finally Dean is 18 and free and shit is about to get real weird....</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: The Descent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a mix for this story, if you want to know what I listen to while I write this: http://8tracks.com/miss_grey/netherworld

 

 _“If you look into the abyss, the abyss looks also into you.”_ –Friedrich Nietzsche

Prologue

            _There is no up or down.  No light.  No dark.  It is the place that is not a place.  Liminal space.  Netherworld.  Here, they cast no shadows.  The mist that swirls around their feet is insubstantial; it’s cold ‘cause they’re afraid.  It’s wet ‘cause they expect it to be.  The walls of the maze aren’t built of stone, or of living things.  They are imagination only but they trap them just the same.  A body can scale a stone wall, can push through the tangle of a hedge.  But a wall built of power and will?  It climbs as high as the imagination will take it.  It is infinite and there is no climbing over it.  It was built by a master.  They can’t go over it.  Can’t go under it.  They don’t wanna go around it ‘cause they know where it leads.  To follow the path of the maze will lead them to the only destruction they truly fear.  The only option they have is deconstruction._

_They walk side by side, their strides matched, hands in their pockets, chins slightly raised in defiance of the world in general.  In this place of no shadows, Cas is Dean’s.  Funny.  Who learned it from who?_

_Dean feels the ground shudder and he freezes.  Cas takes only one more step than him before he too freezes, dares to glance back at Dean.  There is a sudden stillness, ominous in its lack of sound or time.  Cas’s ice blue eyes widen fractionally, his pupils expand, and Dean inhales sharply, simultaneously, with the same sudden horror.  In this in-between place Dean can feel the change before it is manifested.  Dean reaches out and Cas lunges.... And then he is not there.  An opaque wall of mist stands between then.  Dean flings himself at it, fists pounding at it to let him through; his heart is pounding in the rhythm of his hands, his screams rebound infinitely but are strangely muted and distorted in this smothering mist.  His shouts echo back at him and he feels the desperate fear of their separation; his heart will explode.  He summons all of his strength and wills himself to push through the wall.  He falls through, stumbling to his hands and knees, and glances up wildly, expecting to find Cas there.  But Dean is alone._

_He shudders.  He shakes.  This is insanity._

_Time does not exist._

_Eventually he calms his breathing; he pushes to his feet.  He is shaky.  But in this place of changing, he has changed.  This is rage._

_He follows the maze.  And it's taking him down, down, down.  He lets it.  He walks into the heart of it._

_The Other waits for him there._

_This is gonna hurt like hell._


	2. A Party... If One Can Call It That

           

           There is a beautiful, brick two-story house on Evergreen Place that has white Roman columns in the front and white shutters on the windows.  The front door is green with a gold knocker that no one bothers to use.  In the front yard a big, beautiful oak tree is in Spring bloom.  New leaves are budding and the reaching branches half-obscure the furthest window on the left.  A figure is discernible in the gloom of the darkened room, but barely, and then vanishes into the shadows as the sun continues to set.  Lights glow downstairs.  The street is lined neatly with cars.  The neighborhood is quiet; rarely is a thing out of order in this place.  It is affluent, well-mannered, peaceful suburbia.  Inside the house, a party is taking place.  If one can call it that.

 

* * *

 

 

 

            Dean closed his eyes, humoring his mother, and blew out the candles.  His family clapped and he opened his eyes, smiling shakily.  “Did you make a wish?”  His father asked.  Dean nodded silently.  Of course he did.  It's the same wish he made every year.  Like every year, he wondered why the hell he bothers because it has never come true. 

            Mary Winchester swept into the room and set a piece of cake down in front of him, rousing him from his dark thoughts.  He shook his head and smiled up at her in thanks.  The cake was vanilla with chocolate frosting.  His mother told him pie wasn’t traditional for a birthday so she baked this cake instead.  He took the first bite before anyone else had been served, shoveling a large bite of it into his mouth, and closed his eyes to savor it.  It wasn’t pie but hell, it was better than nothing and it was _his_ , damn it.  Today was the day Dean Winchester turned eighteen. 

            As the others were served their cake, their voices rose again in conversation.  At first no one addressed Dean, and then his aunt said “Dean, dear, you look much healthier than you did the last time I saw you.  You're not nearly as skinny.  And your face has some color.”

            Dean sat his fork down and smiled.  “Oh, yeah.  I'm feeling much better.”  It wasn’t all a lie.

            “Dr. Morris sure does wonders, doesn't she?”  She asked right before she took a large bite of Dean’s birthday cake.

            “Actually, I haven't been to see Dr. Morris for about a year now.”  Dean said through clenched teeth, hoping that his aunt would get the hint and drop the subject.  But subtlety didn’t work with his family.

            “Oh,” His Aunt mumbled, pursing her lips, and flicked a glance at John, who Dean knew was standing behind him somewhere, “That's good then, isn't it?  You've sorted everything out?”

            “Sure have.”  Dean grinned at his aunt and pushed his cake away.

            “It's good that you've found your balance, Dean,”  his uncle boomed as he finished his slice of cake.  “Just in time, I'd say!  You're eighteen now and it's time to get on in the real world.  You can't be living in fantasy anymore.  That's a child's world, and you're a man now.”

            Dean’s grandfather cleared his throat and said “I never heard of such a thing when I was your age.  People who made up things like that were just called crazy, see, and put in institutions.  We didn't know much about mental illness in my time.  The medical world has made many advances since I was your age.”

            Dean swallowed hard and fought to keep the smile on his face.  “Well, it's a good thing I wasn't born in your time, then, huh?”  He managed.  “I don't think I would have done well locked up.”  Dean glanced meaningfully at his aunt across the table, and she looked away, pretended not to have seen. 

            “I should say not!”  Dean’s grandfather barked, “They didn't know what to do with those poor crazy people.  Ended up doing more harm than good most of the time, I think.  Locking them up in tiny, dirty cells with no company but themselves.  Straightjackets so that the patients couldn't hurt themselves or anyone else.  Padded walls.  They could bang their heads against the walls all day in those places.  And they used to do electro-shock therapy, too.  That was a nasty business, it was.  But they didn't know any better.  You sure are lucky, Dean.”

            “Yeah....” Dean mumbled and flicked a minute glance at the ceiling before focusing on the table.  His hands clenched at his knees under the table as he tried to keep control of himself.  He could feel all the fear and doubt of his childhood welling up inside him, but it met the bitter, resolute wall of rage and betrayal experience had granted him.  He pushed it back, if only far enough to breathe.

Mary cleared her throat and laughed airily; she fanned her hand as if pushing the negativity from the room.  “Speaking of luck, tell everyone your good news, sweetheart.”

            For the first time that evening, a genuine smile quirked Dean’s lips.  “I've been accepted to NCU.  I start in the fall.”

            “Good.  Study something useful so that you can get a good job!”  His grandfather said before he shoveled another bite of cake into his mouth.

            “That's great news, dear!”  His aunt said, and his uncle only grunted his agreement, “But isn't NCU a bit too far away for your first move?”

            “No.”  Dean struggled to maintain his smile, but he could feel his facial muscles twitch.

            “But you've come so far recently, Dean.  Are you sure you're ready for such a big step as this?  How do you think you're going to handle moving across the country all by yourself?”

            Dean felt a shudder of foreboding go down his spine, but he straightened in his seat, fixed a smile to his face, and met his aunt's gaze across the table.  Dean spoke directly to her, but he was addressing his whole family when he said “Yeah…I'm not worried.  Besides, I won't be alone.”

            “Oh?”  His aunt's smile twitched.  “Is a friend of yours from school going to the same university, then?”

            “No.  Cas is coming with me.”  In the moment it took for Dean’s words to register, he rose from the table in the silence of the room and turned toward the staircase.  As his foot touched the first step, the room exploded behind him.  Protests of indignation.  John Winchester calling for Dean to come back and apologize.  Mary Winchester crying.  Dean blocked out the sounds and forced himself to continue trudging stoically upward.  Finally he reached the top of the stairs, crossed the landing to the last door on the left, and slumped inside, turning the bolt the door and then falling back against it with the last of his strength.

 

* * *

 

 

            Cas turned from the window as Dean entered.  “Happy birthday.”   He murmured with a melancholy smile that didn’t quite reach his shadowed blue eyes as he pushed himself away from the window ledge.  Dean tried to block out the drone from the party downstairs and focus on Cas as he strode to a mere arm's length away from Dean.  “You're free now.”  His eyes roamed Dean’s face and he reached out a hand, tentatively, before freezing and dropping it back to his side.  He lowered his eyes so that Dean could not see what he was thinking.  “Free to leave this place and everyone in it.”  Dean could hear the hurt that Cas was trying to conceal and reached for him but Cas backed away and turned from Dean to stare out the bedroom window once more.  “I'm proud of you, Dean.  You made it.”

            Dean sighed, running a hand through his short, bristly hair, “What are you talking about, Cas?”

            Cas glanced over his shoulder at Dean for just a moment, just long enough for Dean to see his pain, before he faced the window again and said tightly, “You know.”

            Dean stomped over to him quickly before he could duck out of the way and wrapped his arms around him tightly.  Dean could feel Cas’s back stiffen but he continued to hold Cas tightly to himself and Dean pressed his face into Cas’s shoulder, inhaling the scent of winter and wood smoke.  “I'm not leaving _everyone_ , Cas.  I'm not leaving _you._ ”

            “You don't know that.”  Dean could feel the rumble of Cas’s voice vibrate through his back.

            “We'll find out for sure soon enough, man.  But I don't believe it.  It's not this place, Cas, it's _me._ ”  Cas went rigid again so Dean tightened his hold on him, “You're my… Cas…” Dean mumbled, and felt himself flush from embarrassment.

            Cas finally relaxed.  He turned in Dean’s embrace to face him, the worry in his eyes banked with hope.  “So you _want_ me to go with you?”

            “Want?  Cas, I need you, man.  Want has nothing to do with it.”  Finally uneasy with the chick-flick moment, Dean pulled away, rubbing a nervous hand over the back of his neck, and tried to erase from his mind the look of stark uncertainty he’d seen in Cas’s eyes.


	3. New Beginnings

 

            The sun was just beginning to rise over the top of the mountain: Dean sat atop the hood of his sleek black car at the junction of the interstate and got his first look at Ashbrook.  He’d done his research before applying to NCU and so he knew that Ashbrook was a relatively small city with the university at the physical and cultural center.  A real college town.  Dean pulled a breakfast sandwich out of his backpack and munched it happily in the peace of the early morning.  It was Saturday and the roads were clear; the bustle of weekday traffic did not exist on this day and 4:30 in the morning was too early for the weekend shoppers and tourists to be out.  The college would remain mostly asleep until at least 10:00, he figured.

            Dean wasn’t sure whether it was funny or sad that he could fit his whole life in the back seat and trunk of the Impala, but when it had come time for him to pack for the big move, he'd realized that not a whole lot mattered enough for him to want to take it.  He had a box of books and some magazines and a CD case full of his favorite DVDs.  The box containing all of his cassettes was under the passenger seat.  He had his laptop sitting in the passenger seat.  A duffle full of clothes took up the backseat, along with a rolled up sleeping bag.  Finally was a box of miscellaneous comfort items that he hadn't wanted to part with, despite how happy he’d been to escape his parent's house and the town he'd grown up in.

            This was Dean’s new start, laid out before him.  No one in this place knew who Dean Winchester was, and no one cared past his transcripts.  This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity that he meant to take full advantage of.  He could build the life he wanted in this place, without having to constantly worry about the consequences of everything he said and did.  He could focus on his studies and work toward an eventual career doing something he actually cared about.  It had taken Dean a long time to accept that life didn't have to be the way it had been growing up.  And Dean didn't have to be that person, either.

            He could see himself in this place: new school, new friends, new life.  Nothing was going to be the same... well, _almost_ nothing.  He pushed off the hood and cocked his hip against the side of his car, folding his arms over his chest.  He tipped his chin up slightly: an answering challenge to the world.  He had brought himself here against all odds and he was going to be happy.  This place laid before him was his for the proverbial taking.  And he planned to take it all.

 

 

* * *

 

 

            McKinley Hall was a tall, red brick building with large ash and cottonwood trees growing all around it.  The morning was still as Dean pulled into the parking lot at the side of the building.  It looked different in person than it had in the brochure.  No matter.  Any change was an improvement over the bullshit he’d left behind.

            Rows of windows lined the building on all of the four floors and Dean couldn’t help smirking at the wacky things people had put there to mark the rooms as their own.  Some flew flags of various origins, some had zany colored curtains with ruffles.  Still others had messages spelled out that he figured most by-passers wouldn't understand.  At least, Dean didn't understand any of them.  Then again, maybe it was a college thing he just didn’t get yet?

            Dean was nervous as he walked into the building and found his way to the office, glancing over his shoulder once to no benefit.  He was alone.  He cleared his throat, told himself to man up, and strolled up to the window.  Check in was easier than he'd expected it to be _.  Dean Winchester?  Sure, read this, sign on the dotted line, here's your key.  Room's on the fourth floor.  You missed freshman orientation, but it wasn't the end of the world, they assured him.  He could get his ID anytime at the admin office and the rest would take care of itself.  If Dean needed anything, he only had to ask.  By the way, your roommate has already moved in._

            Dean hitched his backpack more firmly up his shoulder and wandered down the hall and then up the four flights of stairs that led to his hall.  As he opened the fire door and pushed into the hallway a half-naked dude strode past him, towel wrapped firmly around his hips, feet slapping in wet shower shoes.  Dean pulled back quickly in order not to smack into the guy’s bare chest and his only other reaction was a “huh.”  _Well,_ Dean thought, _guess this is college_.  Dorm life.  Dean figured he might as well start getting used to it.  Although.... Yes, there might be some interesting complications.  Distractions.  Dean glanced behind himself, but he was still alone. 

            Dean looked at all the interesting posters and decorations lining the walls. Large, colorful papers announcing parties at the frat and sorority houses, workshops for the hordes of new, incoming freshmen.   Local churches hosting get-to-know-you barbecues.  Posters warning against drunk driving and unprotected sex.  And each thick wooden dorm-room door had colorful, animal-shaped nametags taped to them so that everyone would know where they were supposed to live.  Dean strolled down the hallway looking at all the new names, some of which he didn't even know how to pronouce, until he stopped at a door nearly at the end of the hall, room 403, which had the names Dean and Sam on it.  Dean was a pink flamingo and Sam was a neon-yellow bumblebee.  Go figure.  Dean reached for the handle but the door was already slightly ajar, so he gave it a little nudge and it swung open to reveal his new home.

            White-brick, stark, prison walls.  Gray-blue industrial carpet that had a few visible stains.  One window that looked out into a courtyard.  A bed with a strange looking mattress.  An incredibly small space, and a freaking giant taking up half of it.  He was looking out the window, but spun around when Dean opened the door.  “Whoa man!”  He laughed, shaking his head.  Dean’s first impression was too-long, slightly shaggy hair, friendly looking hazel-green eyes, and an innocent laugh.  Oh yeah: he was also like four inches taller than Dean.

            “Sorry,” Dean forced a smile, “but the door was already kind of open.”  Dean waited a moment, but then walked into the room and set his green army backpack on the strange mattress before extending his hand to the guy.  “I'm Dean Winchester.”

            “Hey Dean, I'm Sam Singer.  I hope you don't mind that I took the right side of the room?”

            “Nah.  It's cool.”  Dean assured him.  Dean ran a hand through his hair, nervous.  “So when did you move in?”

            “Yesterday, actually.  My whole family came up to help.”

            “Wow.”

            “Well, we only live about an hour and a half away, so it wasn't a big deal.  Where are you from?”

            “A lot further than that,” Dean laughed.  “Other-side of the country far.”

            “Whoa.  Intense.  So is it just you, then?”

            “Yeah,” Dean said, his voice hitching just a bit beyond his control.  “It's just me.”  Suddenly Dean felt his throat tightening, felt the anxiety crawling up from his stomach, but he pushed it back.  He crossed his arms tightly over his chest and looked out the window.  Sam must have sensed Dean’s unwillingness to elaborate, because he quickly changed the subject.

            “So do you need help moving your things in?”  He asked.  His eyes were big, innocent puppy eyes.  In fact, he was looking at Dean kind of like a pitiful stray he'd just picked up off the side of the road.

            At first Dean was going to turn down his offer.  The words were on the tip of his tongue when he quickly reconsidered.  If he truly was on his own, could he really afford to brush aside his greatest chance at a new friendship?  Wasn't this what he'd wanted when he left home?  And if it turned out he wasn't alone, did he want to alienate the dude he would be living with?  So Dean flashed him his friendliest smile and said “Dude, that would be awesome.  Thanks.”

            “No problem.”  Sam said with a sunny smile as he brushed past Dean and walked out the door.  He turned back to Dean with a smirk and motioned, “Lead on.”

            Dean chuckled  “Sure.  There's not much so it shouldn't take more than a couple trips.”

            “With only one elevator in this whole place, it might.”

            “Really?”  Dean asked, kind of shocked.  “Only one elevator for this whole building?  That doesn't seem really smart.”

            Sam shrugged “Well, it's an update they did about ten years back.  Before that, there were no elevators at all, and some of the Halls still don't have them.  We're the lucky ones.”


	4. Day One

 

            After climbing four flights of stairs for the third time in a half hour, Dean had never been happier that all his physical belongings could fit into his car.  If he'd had anymore shit, he would have left it in the Impala.  Was the elevator broken?  Nope.  But there was a line of freshmen about a mile long waiting with all their stuff for the chance to use the elevator rather than haul it up the stairs themselves.  Dean couldn't exactly blame some of them: it was amazing how much stuff some of these people thought to bring.  Dean’s contribution to dorm life was meager compared to some of the kids who brought large tvs, speaker and game systems, couches, bookcases, and even fish tanks. 

 

* * *

 

 

            Dean’s first day on campus flew by in a whirlwind of anxiety and happiness.  He spent a couple hours unpacking and arranging his half of the room the way he wanted it, rolling his sleeping bag over the creepy water-proof mattress, and setting up his computer.  Dean had thanked Sam profusely for helping him haul all of his things up to the dorm after he realized what a chore it had been, but then Dean left him to his own devices, and thankfully Sam left Dean to his.

            Sam’s side of the room looked so much more comfortable and lived in than Dean’s did.  Sam had white sheets and a blue plaid comforter on his bed, a cheery little plant on his built-in desk, and a couple pictures what Dean assumed was his family.  In one of the pictures, Sam was squeezed between an older man wearing a baseball cap and a beautiful older woman.  In front of him was a shorter blonde woman.  In another picture, Sam and the younger blonde woman had their arms wrapped around each other and the woman was putting bunny ears on Sam. 

            After Sam left the room, Dean wandered over and inspected his bookshelf, which was filled with classic novels, artsy DVDs, and a few random books on philosophy.  Their room looked like a square yin-yang.  Dean didn’t have any fancy bedding—just an old sleeping bag.  The only thing on his desk was his laptop.  Dean had shoved his DVD case in a drawer, and all his clothes were hidden in the wardrobe.  Dean’s books filled the bookcase above the desk; a mélange of fiction and non-fiction.  A whole row of paperback sci-fi novels, classic dystopias like Slaughterhouse Five and 1984, alongside books on mythology and religion and psychology.

            Looking at the stark contrast between their two living spaces, Dean wondered not for the first time that day exactly how long he and Sam would remain on good terms.  Sam was nice enough, but Dean knew and understood that there was only so much one person could take, and living with Dean probably wasn't going to be easy.  At least, it hadn't been for his parents. 

            Dean decided to ignore this new dilemma in his life and instead booted up his computer to check his email.  After finding no new messages, he pulled up his class schedule and jotted it down on a loose piece of paper along with the names of all his professors and the location of each class.  After that, Dean sat at his desk for what seemed an eternity, staring at nothing, slowly driving himself crazy.  Finally, the ball of anxiety sitting in the pit of his stomach was too much to bear, so Dean decided to smother it with activity.  He decided he would drive himself with such focus that there would be no room to think of things that he could no longer do anything about.  Dean shoved his wallet, notebook, and water into his backpack and slung it over his shoulder.  His room key, list of classes, and his trusty switchblade went into his pockets.  Then Dean was out the door and on his way to explore his new domain.

 

* * *

 

 

            The day was hot, even in blue jeans and a black t-shirt.  Sweat trickled down Dean’s back.  Swarms of new freshmen and their families were crowding the dorms, trying to move their things in and a few were touring the campus, but for the most part, the paths around the academic buildings were bare of students.  Dean walked leisurely, taking in the details of the buildings, memorizing where his classes and important buildings were located.  Really, everything was within walking distance of McKinley.  Large ash, cottonwood, and pine trees were scattered liberally around the campus, sheltering and shading large expanses of clean, green grass where Dean could picture himself studying in the future.  A group of guys were throwing around a football in one such place and Dean flicked his eyes at them nervously as he passed by.  One of them held the ball still, staring until Dean passed, and Dean could hear his voice echo as he commented to one of his friends, though Dean couldn’t hear what was said.  Dean didn’t want any trouble though, so he sped up his pace until he was past where they could see.

            High school had been a hell and a half for Dean, and he knew it was going to take some time before he could accept that it was over.  This was not the same place, and Dean was his own master here.  Dean had to constantly remind himself that he didn't have to deal with all the superficial bullshit that came with trying to live in his hometown.  No one knew Dean here and anyway, it shouldn't matter what anyone thought of him.  This was an extremely liberal college; it was one of the reasons Dean had chosen it.  People enjoyed a variety of different lifestyles and came from wide-ranging places.  Dean was sure that his situation could not have been the strangest.  Hadn't Dean proven that to himself already with the last two years of studying during every moment of free time?  There were some really weird people out there, and you know what?  It was perfectly legal to be weird.  Besides, in the past few years, Dean had become a pro at deniability.

            After Dean had located all of his classes, he stopped at the Student Commons to explore the culinary offerings there.  They had a McDonalds, a Chick-fil-A, and a Taco Bell.  Aside from that, there was the regular cafeteria where it was all-you-can-eat cafeteria food.  Tempting... or not.  Dean was just about to write off the Commons as a lost cause when he spotted the coffee shop.  It was one of those little indie places that you expect to find in college towns.  People with piercings and outrageous hair colors were working the coffee bar and it seemed like a full range of humanity sat at the little tables scattered around the shop, drinking their drinks of choice.  This place made Dean grin and even managed to push his anxiety fully out of his mind for a full moment.  Dean made a mental note to return as soon as he had some reading material to keep himself busy.  With that thought, Dean set out in search of the campus book store. 

            The book store was an adventure in and of itself; the number of groaning students and parents amazed Dean as he waited in line to purchase his book order.  Didn't these kids know that college wasn't cheap?  Yes, they were going to pay hundreds of dollars for books they didn't even want to read.  That was a fact they were going to have to come to terms with.  Frankly, Dean didn't care.  He was still of the mindset that anything was better than what he'd just left behind.

            Once Dean had purchased his course books, he returned happily to the coffee shop, bought himself a coffee and a slice of apple pie, and sat himself in a corner to peruse his new books.  Most of the books Dean had bought seemed really interesting, and he hoped they’d be useful. 

            Dean had signed up for a double major in anthropology and psychology with a minor in religious studies, so that meant he was going to be very busy reading for the next four years.  However, Dean had full confidence that the books he'd be reading would be well worth his time and money.  Besides, by the time he was done with his degree, he was hoping to have an advanced knowledge of his special area of interest.  Unlike his grandfather, Dean could honestly care less whether there was someone out there willing to pay him a fortune for what he knew.  It was more for his own personal benefit and he was okay with that.  The way Dean saw it, as long as a person could square their decisions with themselves and whatever spiritual beliefs they had, it didn't matter what anyone else thought.  The person who can square his life with himself is gold.

            Dean’s course load for the first semester was enough to keep his mind busy, and off the anxiety trying to burn a hole in his belly.  The list went something like this:  Intro to Psychology, English 203, Pre-Cal/Trig, Ancient Civilizations, Peoples of the World, and Folklore.  Maybe the move had been worth it anyway, no matter the consequences? 

            The anxiety knot twisted just a little bit tighter, a self-made noose.

 

* * *

 

 

            That night Dean had a hard time falling asleep.  He'd pulled his clothes off so that he was in nothing but his boxers then had read a book until he felt tired.  Still, when it came time to say good night to Sam and turn out the light, Dean learned how hard it was to fall asleep in the same room with a stranger.  Dean honestly hadn't thought he'd be bothered with it, after everything....  But he was.  It seemed like every time his eyelids started to droop, Sam would shift and Dean would be wide awake again.  The sound of Sam’s breathing was foreign to Dean, and when he first began to snore, Dean swore he’d never sleep again.  Under the covers, Dean held himself tightly, shivering despite the warmth of the dorm, and forced himself to sleep.  He had nightmares that jolted him awake and had him gasping for air and shuddering. 

            He was alone.


	5. So What's Your Quirk?

            Sunday consisted of dodging Sam as much as Dean could without seeming rude; he kept asking get-to-know-you kinds of questions that Dean really just had no interest in answering.  Sam was a nice guy.  Too nice, Dean thought, to honestly want to be friends with the likes of him.  Dean knew his type from high-school.  The do-gooder, happy-go-lucky, reaching-out-to- everyone, kind of guy.  Dean didn’t like to psychoanalyze himself but he was pretty sure that his avoidance of Sam was his poor ass attempt to dodge the pain it would cause him when Sam finally realized the kind of person Dean was and decided he no longer wanted to be _Dean’s_ friend.  Dean was fucked up on so many levels.

 

            Dean spent his day exploring more of campus and walking to the local department store.  There was a mandatory hall meeting that night.  An introduction to college life, dorm rules, and each other.  Dean was fucking ecstatic.  Right.

 

            When the time came to head to the meeting, Dean walked into the lounge with Sam, mostly because Dean didn't know anyone else and he didn't want to be the super-awkward dude standing all by himself in the corner.  The room was stuffed with about forty guys, all of whom, by the way, Dean had to share a bathroom with.  His first day had taught him how disgusting that was going to be.  Anyway, they were all scattered around the lounge, some standing, others sprawled on couches or on the floor, and the RA announced that they were all going to play a little game to get to know each other.  Dean groaned, mumbling “I thought I left that shit behind in high school.”  Never the less, they were each forced to state their names, majors, where they were from, and a quirky fact about themselves. 

            Dean didn’t pay attention.  He didn't care where these random guys were from, or what they were studying.  He listened to the “quirky” facts, though, more out of a macabre fascination than any real interest in the people.  They listed such things as double-jointedness, off-beat bands they liked, and the craziest places they'd ever made out.  Dean thought they were all fucking boring.  The only person Dean really bothered to pay any attention to was Sam, who said, interestingly enough, that he was a philosophy and pre-law double major.  And his quirky fact?  “I've seen a ghost before,”  When the other guys groaned and made Ghost-Buster jokes, Sam laughed and said “No, really.  My old house was haunted.  Okay, that's my zany fact.”  And then he smiled at the gathering and life moved on without so much as a hitch.  Except that Dean thought his eyes were going to pop out of his head.  So Dean swallowed hard, fisted his hands together, and got himself under control just in time to do his own intro. “Dean Winchester.  Anthropology and psychology double major.  Religious studies minor.  From Kansas.  Crazy fact?  Haha.  I can do this funny thing with my shoulders.... Yeah.”  It was _that_ kind of night.

            After learning the various rules and regulations of dorm-life, and also that they were “all a family now,” Sam and Dean returned to their room.  They didn't talk a whole lot, just got ready for bed and turned off the lights.  They both wanted to be well-rested for their first day of classes in the morning. 

            Dean’s night only got worse when the nightmares came.  Anxiety nightmares, regret nightmares, were the worst.  Yeah, Dean was a wreck.

 

* * *

 

 

            Considering everything, it was a good day.  Dean woke early enough that when he went to the bathroom, there wasn't a line for the toilet.  Sam was still sleeping as Dean dressed in his carefully chosen outfit of gray jeans and a forest green t-shirt with a dark plaid over-shirt.  Black combat boots.  He looked like any regular college kid, and since that was what he was aiming for, Dean was proud of himself as he brushed his teeth and flashed himself a flirty smile in the mirror.  Dean pushed past the queasiness in his belly, refusing to allow the drama in his life to ruin this day.  No matter what else was happening, Dean had fucking earned this, and he'd be damned if he wasn't going to enjoy it to the fullest and absorb every detail the day had to offer.  His first day of college.  For a while there, Dean hadn’t thought he’d ever make it to this point.  The smile was real, even if it didn't quite reach his green eyes.  Dean double-checked his backpack for all his necessary books, notebook, and pens.  The usual also went in his backpack and pockets.  There are some things a person should just never leave home without, Dean figured, and one of those things is a handy knife of some kind.  You never know what kind of jam you might get in during the day.  Plus, you know, Dean had had a lot of shit happen to him before, but he’d never been mugged or assaulted.  He wasn’t saying his switchblade was the answer to this fact, but you know what?  He was sure it hadn't hurt either. 

            Dean ate a pathetically unsatisfying granola bar on his walk across campus and had just finished as he reached his first class of the day which was, to his disgust and dismay, math.  Dean was sure this class was going to be the bane of his existence for the semester. 

            His next class, however, more than made up for his morning.  Folklore.  Stories with deeper meanings and hidden gems of knowledge.  Pretty much, it couldn't get any better than that for Dean.  He listened to his professor introduce the class with rapt attention.  This was the kind of stuff Dean couldn't get in high school, it was the stuff he'd had to research on his own for years at the local library and through the internet.  Now Dean had a professor who would provide him with great examples, and who had the knowledge to explain them to Dean in depth.  In short: that alone was enough to make Dean’s day.  Dr. Mitchell promised great stories from several different cultures around the world including everything from origin stories to those of sex, love, and witchcraft.  It was pretty much right up Dean’s alley.

            Next was Dean’s Intro to psych class and it was pretty much what he'd expected it to be.  A giant, theater-sized room filled with freshmen.  It wasn't even taught by a professor.  Just a grad student and it was going to be taught straight from the book.  Now, Dean wasn’t exactly the kind of guy to ditch class, but he found himself thinking, as he sat in that lecture, that if there _was_ a class he'd ditch, it would be this one.  He'd already reviewed the textbook and there wasn't anything in it that he wasn't already familiar with.  However, there was no option to test out of psych classes, so Dean was doomed to endure it. 

            Those were Dean’s only classes for the day. He had to wait until the next day to see what his other three classes would be like.  But as he'd already been given homework in all three classes, Dean went to the coffee shop at the Commons, bought himself a coffee, and started working on it.  Dean skimmed the psych chapter then put it aside for the real challenge of the day: math.  Dean spent the next hour working through the ten problems that had been assigned for the night.  Once he'd finished trudging through that little piece of hell, he got to work on his folklore assignment.  They’d started off with the Mayan origin story and Dean was already hooked.  He spent about two hours reading the story, underlining interesting points, and jotting his notes in the margins of the book.  By the time he was done, the coffee shop had a lot more students crowding the tables, his coffee had long-since disappeared, and Dean felt truly happy for a moment.  It was a little harder to feel so alone in a place like the Commons coffee shop when his mind was so focused on something.

 

* * *

 

 

            The evening was a little harder.  Dean stopped at Taco Bell for some tacos then went back to his dorm to watch his show.  Sam was there only long enough for Dean to say hi and wish him a good evening, and then Sam was on his way out to do his chem lab.  Dean contented himself to the mindless oblivion of watching a couple episodes of Dr. Sexy but once it was over, his anxiety started rising again.  So Dean packed his bathroom things and headed to the showers. 

            He turned the water to scalding, braced himself under the spray, and just let it work its magic on his tense muscles.  Dean spent that time trying to convince himself that everything was going to be okay, that this was not the end of the world.  After twenty minutes, he felt steady enough to turn the water off.  As Dean was exiting the bathroom, he caught sight of himself in the mirror and stopped.  He approached and looked at himself closely.  _Really think you can square this with yourself, Winchester?_ Dean thought.   

            Dean ran a hand through his wet, short brown hair and looked deep into his own green eyes.  Dean wished he could say that he was okay, but he wasn't, and he knew it.  He was a real mess, and he'd just been running from his unbearable situation, trying to convince himself that enough work would take his mind off it.  It hadn't... it had just bought him some time and postponed the inevitable.  Dean figured anytime now he was going to have a breakdown.  Sam would walk in to find him curled into a ball in the corner.  They'd ship Dean back home as another casualty of a sheltered childhood, and his case would be closed.  Dean might have to face the fact that life at home was horrible, but this... this loneliness was unbearable.  Dean figured he’d give it the rest of the week, and then he'd have to throw in the towel.  He sighed in defeat and trudged back to his room.

 

* * *

 

 

            Cas was lying on the bed, hands behind his head, one knee bent, the other leg straight, staring at the pattern on the ceiling, when Dean walked back into the room, still toweling his hair dry.  Cas glanced Dean’s way when the door shut, but sat up when he realized Dean had entered the room and Dean stopped dead in his tracks, too shocked to move.  Cas stared at Dean with a strange focus, his eyes roaming Dean’s body and face.  Dean was decent; he wore loose black flannel pajama pants and a white t-shirt but he suddenly felt self-conscious under Cas’s gaze.  It seemed an eternity before Cas smoothly uncoiled himself from the bed and strode to stand in front of Dean.  Dean couldn't help the shudder that went through him, or keep his eyes from fluttering shut when Cas slowly reached out and brushed his fingertips ever-so-lightly across Dean’s arms.  Cas must have felt Dean’s shudder because he drew back and averted his gaze abruptly, shaking his head as if to clear it.  Dean instantly knew Cas had misunderstood the shudder when he cleared his throat, took another step back, and still not looking at Dean, asked in his gruff voice “Did you enjoy the shower?”

            “Cas,” Dean croaked, shaking off his shock, “You made it!”  Dean dropped his towel and bag to the floor and strode right into Cas’s space.  He snatched Cas into his arms and hugged him tightly; a moment later Cas raised his own arms to respond.  They were warm and heavy on Dean’s back.  “Oh my God,” Dean mumbled, and he realized with horror that he was close to crying.  “I thought you'd gotten lost, or left behind.  I'm so sorry, Cas!  I've been worried about you.”

            “Shhh...”  Cas rumbled, and his voice was a balm to Dean’s aching heart.  Dean could feel the anxiety in his belly melt away.  “You didn't have to worry about me.  It just took me a little longer than we'd expected.  But I'm here now, Dean.  I'm here.”  Dean pulled back slightly so that he could look into Cas’s honest blue eyes and he knew for certain that he could never have squared this with himself.  Heaven help him, Dean would have gone back.


	6. This is How They Break You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for mental health issues

 

 

             Dean was six years old when he realized for certain that his parents could not see or hear Cas.  Dean had always believed they just didn't love Cas and were ignoring him, maybe because he’d done something bad, or because they were being cruel.  They even tried to tell Dean that Cas was not real, but of course Dean knew this was ridiculous because how could Cas not be real?  Dean could see him and hear him and touch him same as he could his parents.  Cas grew and learned and changed as Dean did and he had his own thoughts and feelings. 

             It seemed absurd the things they told Dean about Cas; that he was made-up, that Dean had to forget about him and stop playing with him.  Dean thought they were joking, until they began to send him to a psychiatrist.  Even then Dean thought it was an outrageous joke because though Cas attended his appointments with Dean, the psychiatrist claimed not to be able to see him either. 

             It was at this point that Dean began to feel great anger toward the world in general: they were being very cruel to his best friend, and why?  Cas had never done anything mean to Dean or anyone else.  Why should he be treated differently than Dean?  Dean told the doctor that he would not stop playing with Cas, and he would not stop talking to him either.  And so Dean was forced to take medications for his “delusions” that made him sick enough that he did not want to play or eat or talk to anybody.  They made Dean so sick.  But they did not make Cas go away; they only made Cas extremely angry with all the grown-ups in Dean’s life that had contributed to his illness.  Cas tried to yell at them and even to push them to get their attention but they never noticed except one time when Mary jerked around, startled and afraid when she heard someone scream in anger and realized that it could not have been Dean because he was fast asleep in front of her.  After that episode, Dean’s mother decided to take him off the medication and when the doctor asked Dean six months later if he could still see Cas, he'd learned his lesson and told her he couldn't, even though Cas attended that session with Dean as well and held his hand for support while Dean lied.

 

 

            The Winchesters tolerated Cas, even encouraged Dean’s interaction with him when he was very little because they thought it was cute that Dean had an imaginary friend; only after Dean became old enough for it to be embarrassing did they decide they needed to put a halt to it.  And though Dean did not stop playing with Cas or talking to him, Dean didn’t talk about him anymore, and Cas stopped seeking love from Mary or John or any other people who came to the house.  He instead became silent and guarded when other people were near, always watching and listening, and he proclaimed himself Dean’s fierce protector: he swore he'd never let anyone hurt Dean like that again.

 

 

            Dean withdrew into himself in high school and shunned most people on the basic premise that they were too close-minded about a lot of things.  His parents were worried that he took long walks by himself and rarely spoke to them anymore.  But what does one say to the parents who'd never believed their child?  To this day the Winchesters believe that Dean is just a very high-functioning schizophrenic.  Dean dared not tell them that Cas took those walks with him so that they could talk, he dared not tell them that he could sometimes know how they were feeling without being told, or that he had strange dreams, or that he could see ghosts.  No.  Dean didn't speak a word of it because by the age of six he’d already learned one of life's hardest lessons: sometimes it's best just to keep your mouth shut.  Dean dared not speak of many things concerning his life for fear that his parents would put him on medication again, or lock him away like others had suggested they do.

 

 

            Dean’s eighteenth birthday was the end of the line.  On the day that Dean was no longer legally bound to his parents, he vowed that he was done lying and hiding.  His announcement at the party had been a long time in coming.  Dean didn't care what they said.  They couldn't touch him now, or ever again.  Dean would never again have to endure constant doubt, fear.  They shouted until their faces turned blue that night, but Dean didn't care.  He shut myself in his room and made preparations for his future, and took solace in the only person he’d ever trusted.


	7. Watching Over You

            Dean and Cas didn't really get to talk.  They’d only been reunited for about ten minutes when Sam walked in the door and Cas disappeared, either from skittishness or awkwardness, Dean wasn’t sure.  Dean sighed heavily when Cas disappeared out of his arms, frustrated that he was gone so soon.  But he was right to leave.  There would have been too many questions if Sam had walked in and actually noticed Dean conversing with and touching someone who, for Sam, was not there. 

            Despite how upset Dean was that Cas had left so soon, a great weight had been lifted from his heart, and it seemed that the pool of anxiety in his belly had dissolved in the space of a half hour.  Dean didn't know where Cas was at the moment, but Dean knew that at least Cas could get to him.  It might take a while, but it was possible.  Dean hadn't abandoned him in Kansas, after all.  He wouldn't have to go back.

            Though Dean’s heart was lighter for having seen Cas, his mind was now busy with new questions.  What had taken him so long to get to Dean?  Had he gotten lost, or was it just _that hard_ to get to Dean?  Where had Cas been between leaving Kansas and arriving in the dorm?  There was still so much Dean didn't understand, and though he was confident that he would eventually find out, the wait was galling.  Dean needed to study harder, that was all there was to it.  He needed to do even more extracurricular research.  It was amazing, though, that while Dean’s brain was spinning with all these new and unanswered questions, he was finally able to sleep that night without having nightmares.  He actually fell asleep feeling something like peace.

 

* * *

 

 

 

            Tuesday morning Dean went to classes with a spring in his step and a lightness to his heart.  The world was good.  Cas was with him again.  Dean breezed through English class, which was primarily a survey of 20th century literature, with barely a pause.  In Ancient Civilizations, he read the syllabus with scary enthusiasm, overjoyed when he learned about the six major state-level societies they were going to discuss.  God-kings and magic.  Dean felt a thrill of excitement at what he might learn from such a class as this. 

            He had a lunch break after Ancient Civilizations, so he bought a sandwich from the Commons and took himself to one of those shaded grassy areas he'd seen on his tour of the university.  Dean flopped on his belly in the grass, pulled his bag near, and rummaged inside for one of his texts.  Dean read two short stories for English by the time he’d finished devouring his ham and cheese, and then he checked his watch.  He still had an hour before he had to be to his last class of the day.  So Dean pulled out his Ancient Civilizations text, a pen, and a highlighter, and set to work on the first chapter: the Fertile Crescent.  Babylon. 

            Dean was halfway through the chapter when he realized it was time to go, or else he'd be late.  So he packed up his things quickly and then hustled across the campus just in time to find a seat in Peoples of the World before his professor trudged through the door.  This class was everything Dean had hoped it would be:  A survey of indigenous peoples from across the world.  Dean recognized some of them: Australian aborigines, the Inuit, and the Hopi.  Others were new to him: the Nahua, Dine, and various tribes in Africa which Dean couldn't figure out how to pronounce.  When Dean tentatively raised his hand to ask, he was told that some of the sounds were things called a “glottal-stop”, or rather a strange noise made in the back of the throat.  Only after Dean had nodded and jotted the information down did he realize that he'd just asked his first question in his college career, and he hadn't second-guessed himself.  It had been easy.  And no one had made a comment about it.  In fact, Dean had seen relieved looks on the faces of some of the other students; Dean was sure they were happy someone else had asked the question they were afraid to.  Though they were obviously afraid of looking stupid in front of the class, they were also busily copying down the answer the professor had just given.

 

* * *

 

           

            Dean returned to his room late that afternoon excited about his day and even more excited about the prospect of seeing Cas and talking with him about their situation.  However, Cas was not there when Dean arrived.  Dean barreled through another chapter of reading, wrote a short summary of the chapter for the next day's assignment, then pushed back from his desk and looked around.  Still no sign of Cas.  No sign of Sam, either, though, which was nice.  Dean was _not_ looking forward to the awkwardness of having to dodge Sam every time he wanted to have a word with Cas in the future, but it was either that or have Sam think Dean was a loony, and Dean wasn't ready to give up the chance for a new friend yet.  Six o'clock came and went.  Then so did seven, eight, and nine.  At ten o'clock, Dean finally gave up and went to take a shower before it got too late.  Cas was still not there when Dean returned to the room.  Dean allowed himself to feel annoyed as he curled up in his bed: where was Cas now?  And why was he staying away?  Dean focused on how annoying it was and pushed all doubt from his mind: he refused to think that maybe Cas _couldn't_ get to him.  Nope.  Instead, Dean went to sleep.

 

 

* * *

 

 

            _Dean was all the good things in the world. He was beautiful.  Cas sat on the edge of the bed and watched over Dean as he slept.  Dean was curled tightly upon himself, his hands fisted under his chin.  His brows were pulled down as if in deep concentration.  Cas reached out to smooth the errant, soft locks from his forehead, but stopped himself halfway there.  He pulled his hand back and contented himself with simply observing.  Cas regretted that he could not look into Dean’s eyes while he was sleeping, but Cas could imagine them well enough.  He’d been staring into them for an eternity.  For the whole of his existence.  Dean’s eyes were the eyes of the world.  Sometimes Dean seemed as though he’d seen everything there was to see and was left unfazed by it.  Other times, Cas thought that Dean might break: his eyes could hold a whole world of sadness.  Cas could not take it away from him.  He couldn’t keep Dean from it either, though he did try._

_This was Cas’s curse: to want to act, but to be unable to.  Cas could rage for Dean, he could try to guide him, but when it was the most necessary, Cas could not protect him.  Cas had not been able to protect Dean from his parents, and he feared that he could not protect Dean in this place.  Not really.  But Dean’s faith was strong.  Dean doubted the world.  He doubted humanity.  He doubted himself.  But naïve, beautiful, trusting Dean did not doubt Cas.  How could this be?_

_Cas stayed with Dean for hours.  He was filled with peace simply by being in Dean’s presence.  Cas watched Dean’s chest rise with each blessed breath and he was thankful.  Cas could hear each inhale and exhale.  Dean was well._

_Dean shivered as the night wore into the thin hours of the early morning.  Cas turned and saw that Dean had left the window open.  Cas turned back to Dean and focused all of his energy: he pulled the blanket up over Dean’s shoulders.  A few moments later, Dean stilled and sighed.  As the first golden-pink rays of light spilled in through the window, Cas took his leave.  He did not belong in this place._


	8. Party Time

The week crawled by.  Dean went to classes.  He read his books.  He did his homework.  What else was there to do?  Dean had nothing else to keep him busy after these things had been done, and he couldn’t force himself to stay in the dorm watching mindless DVDs for a moment longer, and it was becoming increasingly hard to dodge Sam while he was there, so Dean went to the one place that he knew would offer him a refuge: the library.

            The university library was a large three-story building with an additional basement where the oldest of the archives were kept.  It was not a creepy or musty library like some Dean had heard of.  In fact, it was pretty modern (except for the basement, and really, those are always creepy, aren’t they?).  There were computers scattered throughout the first floor and the circulation desk was operated by cheery librarians and grad students for the most part.  The remainder of the first floor and the second and third were taken up with the stacks.  Huge bookcases stuffed with knowledge. 

            Dean found a spot on the third floor that seemed hidden away in a corner; large comfy chairs and an industrial-style coffee table that looked as though it had survived an apocalypse and could survive another.  It was in this spot that Dean settled himself with random books that he'd pulled from the shelves having to do with magic and particularly shamanism.

 

            Dean spent a good deal of his first week of college there.  He avoided fraternity pledge parties like the plague.  He kept his distance from the rows of tables lining the pathway outside the Commons where students sat recruiting for various clubs and societies.  It was hard enough for Dean to deal with his everyday life without having to factor in these new and unaccustomed social events.

            It was sad to say, but Dean could admit: he'd become so used to not having friends that the idea of them unsettled him.  In all honesty, Dean just didn't know how to maintain friendships.  He didn't know how he was supposed to act with others at a party, or in class.  He was definitely a bit socially awkward.  The only person he'd ever really been friends with was Cas and that had been so natural Dean had never had to give thought to what he was saying and doing.  Besides, Dean was also Cas’s first friend and so Cas wouldn't know that Dean’s friendship was strange in any way.  How could he know when he had nothing to compare it to?

 

* * *

 

            Thursday started out as a miserable day.  It was raining and Dean was almost late for his math class.  He had forgotten his umbrella so by the time Dean flung himself into the math building, his clothes were soaked to his body, his hair was a dripping mess, his shoes were muddy as hell, and he was gasping and shivering.  Dean sat through the whole class and the next before he had a chance to run back to his dorm to change his clothes and grab an umbrella.  The rest of the day followed in a similar way.  Suffice it to say, by the time Dean returned to his room in the late afternoon, he was ready for the day to be done.  However, the Powers That Be had other plans for him.

 

 

            Dean had just returned to his room after having showered when someone knocked on his door.  Dean sighed, ran a hand through his disheveled, wet hair, and went to answer the door.  He pulled it open and found a guy who looked vaguely familiar looking back at him with a smile.  “Hey man, how’s it going?  You're Dan, right?”

            Dean rolled his eyes.  “Dean,” he corrected.  The guy was about Dean’s size, and he had the prep thing going on.  Black slacks, polo shirt.  He had dark skin and dark, smiling eyes to match his slightly smug smile.  Frankly, Dean had no idea what this guy was doing at his door.

            “Dean,” the guy amended.  “I'm Gordon from 418, at the other end of the hall.  We met at the dorm meeting on Sunday?”

            “Oh, yeah,” Dean lied.  “Gordon!  What’s up?”

            “Me and some of the boys are hitting up a party tonight and we figured we’d invite you and Sam. So, whaddaya say?”

            Dean was on the verge of rejecting the invitation, pleading too much homework, or a headache, or hell, even the flu, but he didn't.  Dean wasn’t sure why he didn't just tell Gordon no and shut the door.  But Dean found himself thinking: _Isn’t this what I want? Normalcy?  Didn’t I say I wanted to make friends and go to parties and just be a normal guy for once?_   _Isn’t this why I moved across the country and left behind everyone who ever knew me?  Also, it’s been a shitty week. Stressful days, restless nights.  And anyway, Cas is around somewhere, or at least he had been, so why should I continue to worry about him?_   _He told me not to._ So instead of turning Gordon down, Dean smiled and said “Sure.  What time were we planning on going?” 

            Yeah, Dean was pretty big on self-deception.

 

* * *

 

 

            Dean had been to parties before.  Really.  He’d just never had fun at any of them, but as he pulled his jeans on, he decided that tonight he was gonna have a good time.  Dean pulled his favorite Zeppelin shirt on and checked himself in the mirror.  He looked good, he had to admit.  While Dean finished getting ready, part of him fully expected to see Cas reflected behind him in the mirror, looking on with interest, but he never showed.  The sky outside Dean’s window darkened and the air took on the slight chill that comes with summer evenings.

            Dean met the other guys in front of McKinley Hall.  Gordon had three others with him: Luke, Zach, and Uriel.  Once the introductions had been made, Dean finally got around to asking where the party was and how they were going to get there.  Frat house.  One of those Phi... somethin'...somethin's....  And they were going to walk.  It was only about a block from the other side of campus.  Looking at the other guys, Dean felt out of place.  They were wearing slacks or dark jeans, button-downs with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows.  They looked like something from a movie—Dean didn’t think college guys really dressed like that.  He wore his favorite pair of faded jeans, his Zeppelin t-shirt, and his black boots.  He was the odd man out, like usual, even with the effort he'd put into styling his hair.  Whatever.  Sometimes there was just no fucking winning.

            They strolled down the sidewalk in the deepening darkness, laughter echoing off the campus buildings as they passed.  Dean made small talk.  He laughed.  He forced himself to be carefree.  Why shouldn't he be?  There was no reason not to enjoy himself tonight.  Who knew?  He figured he might even meet some interesting people at the party.

            They could hear the bass pounding from the party more than a block away.  The steady thumping matched Dean’s heartbeat and made him feel one with the music.  It loosened him up and made him want to do something completely out of character.  Again: why not?  It's not like there was anyone around who might care, or notice.  People were scattered across the lawn when they reached the house: a large two story house that had seen better days.  The doors and windows were wide open and light and sound spilled out into the night. 

            Dean paused on the steps, suddenly nervous again, but Gordon ushered him into the house.  Dean’s first impression was of hot, sweaty bodies pressed against each other, and him.  The lights were dim enough in the room that he couldn’t properly make out anyone's faces.  The air smelled of sweat and alcohol.  Dean pushed through the crowd and Gordon waved for Dean to follow, leading him to the corner where a table was set up.

            “What do you want to drink?”  Gordon shouted.  Dean couldn't really hear him, but was able to read his lips.

            “I'll just take a beer!”  Dean shouted back.

            “A what?”

            “A beer!” 

            Gordon smiled approvingly and handed Dean a beer before slapping him on the back.  “Drink up!  I'm gonna go see who else is here!”  And then he was swallowed up in the crowd and Dean was on his own.  Dean took a swig of the beer and clutched the bottle close to his chest.  He moved away from the table and found a comfortable spot against the wall from where he could watch the crowd dancing and grinding. 

            Dean was just finishing his beer when someone reached over and handed him another.  Dean looked up to see a guy with black hair and blue eyes leaning against the wall next to him.  “Here you go,” he said, though Dean could barely hear his voice over the pounding of the music.  Dean took the bottle and tipped it back, grateful.  Dean figured getting drunk might make this whole situation a lot easier.

            “Thanks.”

            The guy nodded and took a swig of his own beer.  “No problem.  My name's Michael.  What's yours?”  He extended his hand and Dean shook it.  He was warm.  So warm.  Or maybe it was just Dean.

            “Dean.” 

            “Well, nice to meet you, Dean.  Are you here with anyone?”

            “Um...”  Dean could feel his head starting to get fuzzy.  “A few guys from the dorm.”

            Michael chuckled, “No, I meant like a girlfriend?  Or, ya know, a boyfriend.”

            “Oh,” Dean could feel himself blush, and it wasn't from the alcohol.  “No.  No girlfriend or… no.  I’m not here with anyone.”

            “Hmmm.... Interesting.”  Another tilt of the bottle.  “Why not?”

            “Oh, uh, well... I'm new here.  I don't really know anyone yet.”  And of course other reasons that Dean could _not_ tell this guy, nor did he want to.  He wasn’t about to open up that fuckin can of worms.

            “Well, here's my number,” Michael said as he pulled out a pen and wrote his number on the back of Dean’s hand.  “If you ever want anyone to hang out with, give me a call.  Have a good night, Dean.”  And he pushed away from the wall and melted back into the crowd.  Dean stared at the phone number blankly for a moment before he downed the second beer.

            The room was only just starting to spin when Gordon and Luke showed back up and took hold of Dean, dragging him through the crowd and then down a hallway.  A door at the end stood slightly ajar and before Dean knew it, he was being guided through it and then down a set of stairs where a crowd was laughing in the center of the room.

            “What's going on?”  Dean managed to mumble at Gordon.

            Gordon laughed and Dean could tell he was drunk.  “Just some drunken morons having cheap, childish fun.  I don't even know where they got it, but it'll probably be a good laugh.  Wanna watch the show?”

            Dean imagined weed, or maybe even a beer-bong.  He expected something ordinarily at a college frat party.  The conversation and laughter of the crowd blended together into nothing more than a roar of sound for Dean and he could not distinguish one voice from the next, so he was completely unsuspecting of the truth when he finally managed to push through the crowd to get a look at what was going on.

            The truth was more potent than a slap and Dean sobered instantly as he looked on, horrified, at what sat in the center of the ring of partyers.  A group of seven guys and girls sat around a low table, their faces almost glowing with alcohol and dark pleasure.  Between them: a ouija board.  Dean stumbled backward out of the crowd and people only paid attention to him because he seemed to be the only one scared.  These kids had no fucking clue….

            Dean was halfway up the stairs when Gordon grabbed him and pulled him back down, though Dean fought him all the way.  “God, Dean, what the hell is your problem?”  He demanded.

            “I just don't wanna stay down here, man.  Those things give me the jeebs.”  Dean realized as he said this that he was shaking and breathing way too hard.

            “Chill out, would you?  It's just a game.  You don't really believe in this stuff, do you?”  Gordon’s skepticism and disapproval of Dean’s behavior were palpable.

            Dean stared at him for so long that he raised his eyebrows and demanded “Well?”

            “Nah.  Just superstitious, I guess.”  Dean lied.

            “Well just relax, alright?  I want to see what they're doing, and I don't want you to freak out and get weird on me, got it?”

            Dean nodded and walked slowly back toward the center of the crowd with Gordon, hoping to remain unnoticed by everyone in attendance.

            One of the guys holding the diviner turned his head to look at them as they pushed through into the center.  “Hey man.  Anything you're dying to know?”

            Dean fought back a shudder.  Gordon’s grin widened.  “Who are you talking to?”  Dean would have begged him not to ask the question, but he was too apprehensive to even open his mouth in the presence of that _thing._

            “Scott Richman.  Nineteen years old.  He used to be a college student here at NCU about 60 years ago.”

            “Cool.”  Gordon said.  “How’d he kick it?”

            The guy lowered his voice, “Swimming accident.”

            “Sucks, man.”

            “Yeah, it must have really sucked.  Scott's a really cool guy, too.  He's already answered lots of questions.  Wanna know who you’re gonna hook up with?”  The guy wiggled his eyebrows.

            Gordon laughed and asked, “Scott, you there man?  Can you tell me which sexy lady I’m hooking up with tonight?”

            Dean should have kept his mouth shut.  Really, he should have just left when he'd first tried and told Gordon to fuck off, but he hadn't, and the Universe has an ironic sense of humor.  So before Dean could stop himself, he was blurting out “Don't tell it anything about yourselves!”

            “Why not?  He's just a college student like the rest of us,” the guy protested.

            “How do you know?”  Dean asked.  And suddenly, the laughing died down to a murmur as everyone focused their eyes on Dean.  He began to shudder.  “How can you ever really know who you're talking to?  Spirits can _lie._ ”

            “What do you mean?”  Asked a girl on the other side of the card table.

            “This thing is like an online chat room,” Dean said, gritting his teeth, trying to stay calm and make them understand “I can tell you I'm a middle-aged man with three kids, but it doesn't mean I am.  You can never really _know_.  And instead of sexual predators, there are other things you should be wary of when you use these things.”

            “Who the fuck is this dude?”  One of the guys demanded, at the same time the girl sneered “Like what?”

            “God, Dean, way to be a freak, man.”  Gordon said before he shot Dean a dirty glare.

            “Don't give it my name!”  Dean hissed, and turned his eyes to the board for a reaction.  Time seemed to slow, so that Dean could feel every heartbeat, could hear every breath.

            And then Dean watched in utter, silent horror as the diviner spelled out “Dean is such a nice name.”  Dean had to fight to control his urge to bolt like a frightened deer.  Every muscle was pulled tight as he forced himself to calmly turn and walk away.  He was steady going up the flight of stairs out of the basement, and through the mass of dancers in the house.

            He didn't puke until he'd made it outside.  He only had time to lean over the stair-rail before his drinks came up in a rose bush.  Dean was shaking something wicked and he'd never felt so horrified in his life.  You know those moments when you just _know_ you've fucked up?  Yeah, this was one of those times.  So Dean swiped his sleeve across his mouth, pushed back the sobs that threatened to tear through his chest, and forced himself to walk back toward campus.

            He jumped at shadows and felt like he was going to come apart at the seams.  Each step was a struggle.  Dean was a mix of rage and fear.  He was so angry at Gordon for putting him in that situation, though Dean doubted he had to worry about him anymore.  After embarrassing Gordon like that, Dean doubted he'd seek out Dean’s company again.  Dean walked all the way back to McKinley Hall alone in the eerie dark of campus, the whole time wondering what the fuck had happened to Cas.


	9. When the Lights Go Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In honor of Halloween! Enjoy :)

          

 

            By the time classes were over Friday, Dean had begun to wonder if he was ever going to have a day that didn't completely blow.  It seemed like as far back as he could remember, he'd had an endless procession of shitty days.  Days filled with anxiety and headaches.  Nights filled with horrible dreams and plenty of tossing and turning.  The only good thing was he had plenty of homework to keep himself busy for a while.

            Dean caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror as he passed down the hall toward his dorm room; he looked like a walking thunderstorm.  His hair was mussed and his eyes were a weirdly lighter shade than usual.  Dean snorted, thinking  _I wouldn’t talk to me_.  Yet when Dean blew into the room, Sam looked up from the book he was reading on his bed and smiled.  “Hey Dean!  We haven't seen each other much this week, have we?”

            “Not really.”  Dean mumbled.

            “But then we've both been super busy.  It's Friday, though.  We made it through our first week of college!”  Sam beamed at Dean but his enthusiasm could not thaw Dean’s mood.  “Me and a few of the guys were going to go catch a movie this evening to celebrate.  You wanna come?”

            Although seeing a movie seemed like a relatively harmless way to pass the time, especially compared to his escapades of the night before, Dean was justnot in a people mood.  The night before, Dean had practically committed social suicide in front of a crowd, and then he had felt trapped and scared, and he was still shaken up from the experience, though he never would have admitted as much aloud.  And he was worried.  Heartsick.  However, Dean put on an air of nonchalance and gave Sam a rueful smile.  “I wish I could man, but I have this huge paper I have to write for my Folklore class and I'd really just like to get it done.  Thanks for the invite though.”

            “No problem.”  Sam said, though Dean knew by the look in his eyes that a few more rejections and Sam might just stop offering.  So Dean added “I really appreciate the offer, Sam.  Seriously.  I guess I'm just not in a very social mood right now.  Homesickness, maybe.”

            “Oh, well maybe if you went out it would help?”

            “I doubt it.  I think I just need to be alone for a while to get my head together.  I'll have myself sorted soon enough, though.  I promise.  Maybe I'll feel up for the next movie.”

 

* * *

 

 

            Dean was halfway through his essay when the power in the building went out.  “Shit!”  He cursed, but thanked The Powers That Be that he'd just saved his draft.  Hopefully not too much was lost.  Dean waited a few moments, but when the power didn't immediately come back on, he figured it was just his luck.  Dean guessed this was his punishment for turning down Sam’s invitation to the movies.  Now he got to sit in the dark all by himself. 

Dean’s musings were interrupted by the sound of the entirety of McKinley Hall going insane.  Girls were shrieking and guys were doing horror-movie-villain evil laughs.  You know.  Muahahaha!  Dean could hear people running down the hall and slamming doors.  Laughter.  Random shouting and banging.  Dean left the desk, made sure the deadbolt on the door was locked, and then proceeded to turn on his flashlight and prop it against the wall so it cast a dim, off-center glow across the room.  No way was he gonna just sit in the dark listening to the other freshmen unleash their crazy. 

            In the dim light, Dean pulled out a novel and settled in to read.  Every so often, a particularly loud shout or door slamming startled Dean enough to drag him away from his story.  Once he even heard someone run by his door shrieking “Oh my God, it's the zombie apocalypse!” _Really?_ Dean thought, _Is that the best these guys can come up with?  Our brains have been warped by television._  Eventually, though, the sounds faded away.

            Strangely, the silence disturbed Dean more than the shouts and screams.  The whole building felt abandoned and the more Dean thought about it, the antsier he felt.  Finally, after he'd reread a page about five times, Dean reached the point where the heebie-jeebies were bad enough that he couldn't stay cooped up in his room any longer.  So he grabbed his switchblade and his handy flashlight and decided to investigate whether the building was now as abandoned as it felt.

            The hallway was empty.  There was not even the flicker of light from underneath the other doorways.  Dean slowly made his way down the hall, his flashlight making a slow sweeping motion from one side of the hall to the other.  He was so paranoid and hyper-aware that he felt like someone was watching him, but when he shone his light behind him, there was no one there.  His hands were sweating, so he paused and wiped his palms on his jeans before getting a better grip on his knife and moving on.

            Dean was only halfway down the hall when the hair on the back of his neck stood up completely straight and he knew without a doubt that someone was watching him.  Dean stopped, even though all his instincts were shouting at him to run.  One heartbeat.  Two.  Dean had time to draw in a ragged breath before he felt a presence close in right behind him.  Someone grabbed Dean’s elbow and he spun around, flicking the switchblade open as he turned.  He lunged, plunging the blade straight at his attacker’s gut.  Cas grabbed Dean’s wrist and stopped him, just an inch away from his belly, saying “Dean, it's just me!  It's _me_!”  Dean started shaking so badly that he almost dropped his knife, but he managed to close it and pocket it before he lost all self-control.

            Dean could barely make out Cas’s features in the gloom of the hallway, but he instantly felt relieved in his presence.  Dean didn't say anything as Cas guided him back to his room; he allowed Cas to usher him in through the door and Dean turned the deadbolt once more before turning on Cas, arms crossing defensively.  When Dean felt he had himself under control enough not to scream, he dared to meet Cas’s eyes and asked with forced calm “Where have you been?”

            Cas's blue eyes were dark in the dim lighting from the flashlight and his face was cast in stark relief.  His raven hair melded with shadow and his dark brows lent his face an almost sinister look.  “I've been doing reconnaissance on our new territory.”  He said easily.  Their eyes met only for a moment before Cas turned his away; he didn't want Dean to know his thoughts.

            “I've been worried about you, man.”  Dean explained, proud of himself for maintaining his calm.

            “I told you not to worry.  I've been around, Dean.”

            “Not for days!”  Dean hissed.

Cas shifted uneasily, crossed his arms.  “I've stopped by while you were sleeping to make sure you were okay.”

            “I'm not!  I haven't been!”  Dean shouted.  He could feel tears welling up in his eyes but he pushed them back.  Cas must have heard the hitch in Dean’s voice because he finally met Dean’s eyes again and Dean was able to read him.  Fear.  Anxiety.  Guilt.  “What about the party, Cas?  Where _were_ you?”

            “What happened?”  Cas’s deep voice turned even gruffer, with a hard edge to it.  Fear. Anger.  The need to protect and avenge.

            “You don't even _know_?”  Dean whispered disbelievingly.

            “ _What happened_?”

            “Why have you been avoiding me, Cas?”  Dean whispered.  He could feel a single tear roll down his cheek.  Cas reached out a hand to wipe it away but Dean took a step back.  “Why?”  Dean demanded.  Cas sighed and ran a hand through his hair.  Turned his eyes from Dean’s once more.

            “I thought it was for the best.”

            “ _Why_?”

            Blue eyes met Dean’s and Dean didn't need to read Cas to know that he was incredibly sad and confused.  “I didn't think you wanted me here.”

            “Why would you think that?”

            “Dean.  This is a new place.  A new start for you.  I know you've always wanted to live a normal life.  I didn't want to take that away from you.”

            “Cas.... I told you that I wanted you with me.”

            “You're too good a man to ever just tell me to leave, but it doesn't mean you don't want to.”

            “But I don't!  I wanted to get away from home, Cas!  Away from the lies!  You're the only person I don't have to lie to, and I'm not going to start now.  I meant what I said.  You're my best friend.  What you've been thinking... it hurts, man.”

            “I'm sorry.”  Now when Cas reached for Dean, he did not back away.  Dean allowed Cas to brush the tear from his cheek with the pad of his thumb.  “I'm sorry for everything, Dean.  For thinking that you didn't want me.  Didn't need me.  For making you worry.  For not being there when you needed me.”

            “Just don't leave me like that again.”  Cas nodded.  “Promise me, Cas.”

            “I promise.”  He said earnestly.  “Now, tell me what happened.”

            Dean was about three quarters of the way through his story about the party when he heard the door unlock and Sam strolled in, chatting away about how creepy the dorm was with all the power out.  The instant the door clicked open, Cas disappeared, and Dean was left staring at empty space.  So he turned and smiled at Sam, commenting noncommittally about how crazy everyone had gotten.  They chatted about the insanity on campus for about an hour and then they both decided to turn in.  And the whole while, Sam was completely oblivious about the conversation he'd interrupted.

 

* * *

 

 

_“Mommy,” Dean said imperiously, “Cas wants a picnic too.”  They were sitting outside in the yard, a blanket spread underneath them on the dewy grass, a packed basket of food in the middle, and place settings before each of Dean’s parents and himself.  Cas sat to Dean’s left, a sad look in his eyes at being excluded again.  Neither of them understood why Dean’s parents did not love Cas the way they loved him, but they both knew it was true.  John and Mary did not like to look at Cas or speak to him, and often did not unless Dean demanded Cas be included with Dean’s own participation as the ultimatum.  Today it was a simple picnic and after Dean called attention to his mother's mistake, Cas grabbed Dean’s hand and squeezed gently.  Dean’s parents exchanged a pained look before Mary sighed and set a place for Cas.  Dean grinned at Cas in triumph and Cas grinned back, saying “I love you, Dean,” before they turned their attention to the food.  It never even seemed strange to Dean that Cas did not actually eat the food set before him._

* * *

 

 

 

Dean woke from his dream, a memory, to find Cas sitting at the foot of his bed, head bent into his hands.  Sometime during the night Dean had turned so that his feet were pressed to Cas’s thigh through the blanket.  “Cas?”  Dean mumbled, pushing himself to a sitting position.

            “I'm sorry,” Cas said, lifting his head to look at Dean.  His eyes were so sad and remorseful.  “I've been so stupid.”

            They stared silently at each other for a moment before Dean whispered, “Yeah, you have.”  Cas turned his eyes away.  “But since it doesn't happen often, I’ll forgive you.”  Cas chuckled and the sound warmed Dean’s heart.  “Hey, look at me,” Dean whispered and Cas dared to meet his eyes.  “I meant what I said, Cas.  I want you with me.”

            “I've learned my lesson.  I promise I will _never_ leave you again.”  Cas leaned forward and wrapped Dean in his arms.  Dean would never say it out loud, hardly even let himself think it, but at that moment, he realized that he’d never felt safer than he did with Cas at his side.

* * *

 

 

 

“Hey Dean, were you on the phone early this morning?”  Sam asked as he pulled on his shoes early Saturday morning.

            “No, why?”  Dean asked, staring into space, only half-listening.

            “Oh, I thought I heard you talking to someone.”

            Dean finally snapped out of his reverie.  “What?  Oh, uh… I must have been talking in my sleep,” He lied easily.  “I forgot to mention I do that sometimes.  Just ignore me if you can.” Dean's grin didn't quite reach his eyes.


	10. Asking the Important Questions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who is reading this story! I appreciate every single one of you :)

 

On Sunday, Dean was out the door and headed to the library by 8:30.  The library didn't actually open until nine, but Dean figured he could stop by the library cafe (which was thankfully open at 7) and get a coffee before he really set to his research for the day.  After making up with Cas Friday night and knowing that he was there to stay, Dean decided to put his spare time to better use than just looking up random shit.  There were questions he had that he wanted answered, and he hoped that he could find some of those answers hidden in the dusty tomes housed at NCU.

            Dean passed a group of students as he swung around the corner outside of McKinley Hall.  They were chatting and smoking.  Dean recognized a few faces as guys who lived up on the fourth with him, including Gordon, who shot Dean an extremely dirty look before rejoining his conversation with a smile.  Dean figured Gordon was still pretty pissed at him for having embarrassed him at the party on Thursday night.  It didn't bother Dean a whole lot; it's not like they were friends before the party or anything.  And Dean figured this way there was just one less person he had to worry about bothering him.  Also, Dean wouldn't have to guard everything he said so closely; life was already complicated enough without the added bonus of Cas hanging around asking questions all the time.  Which he was now. 

He'd kept to his promise so far: he'd stuck to Dean like glue for the most part of Saturday.  While Dean had spent his afternoon finishing the paper he’d started Friday evening, Cas had taken up a lounging position on Dean’s bed, propped against his headboard, and studied Sam from across the room.  Occasionally, he'd comment on something he noticed about Sam, such as “He seems friendly enough... is he being nice to you, Dean?”  To which Dean could only nod, because what could he say with Sam sitting in the room?  Sam couldn't see or hear Cas, which was well enough, but he sure as hell could hear Dean’s side of that conversation.  Cas seemed very interested in the fact that Sam was a philosophy major, saying “Maybe he can help you?”  And maybe he could, but Dean was _so_ not gonna go there.

            When Dean reached the library, he had fifteen minutes before the doors opened, so he settled himself in the cafe with a piping hot cup of coffee and went over his notes.  Dean really thought he was getting somewhere with his questions: _What am I? And what is Cas?_

 

* * *

 

 

            That night Dean was sprawled on his bed reading some more folktales for class and Sam was sitting at his desk with his giant feet propped on the bed, reading a philosophy textbook.  After Dean finished a particularly disturbing tale, he turned his attention to Sam.  Sam was absently playing with his too-long hair, his brows drawn in concentration.  Dean watched Sam highlight a line before he turned the page.

            “Hey, Sam?”  Dean asked, before he could stop himself.

            “Hmmm?”  Sam asked, slowly tearing his eyes away from the book.  “What's up?”

            “You're a philosophy major, right?”

            “Oh... um, yeah.  Why?”

            Dean shrugged.  “Just wondering why you chose to study that.”

            Sam smiled and marked his page before shutting the book and setting it aside.  “Mostly I’m looking for the truth, Dean.”

            Dean squirmed.  “The truth?”

            “Yeah.  The truth.  But I think there are lots of truths, depending on who you are.  I'm looking for a bigger truth, ya know?  I figure just thinking about things is a good way to get there, and this major affords me that opportunity.  I like thinking about things.  Besides... philosophy is pretty open.  I can read up on all sorts of things that people believe in.”

            “I do that too, with my studies.”

            “Anthro and psych, right?”

            “Yep.”

            “Then you understand how diverse the human population is.  People do and believe such a wide range of things and most of them believe it's the truth.  For instance... did you know there are some people who believe in “the force,” as in Star Wars?  They recognize it as the power of the spirit.  They really mean it, too—they see it as a metaphor for what's really out there.  On the other hand, we have people who say they worship the flying spaghetti monster.  Do they really believe that?  Who knows.”

            Dean couldn’t help the snort of laughter, “Flying spaghetti monster, huh?” 

            “You got it.”

            “You make a good point, though, that I never really considered.  How people can say they believe things, but it doesn't mean they really do.  And how others believe exactly what they say because for them it is the undeniable truth.”

            Sam smiled.  His hazel eyes were so honest. “That's what I like to study.”

            Dean thought about his next question silently for a minute, wondering if it would be weird to ask.  But then he figured Sam was as good a person as any to ask.  Besides, Dean could always pretend it was pure professional interest if Sam became suspicious. “I have a question for you, Sam.  I just want your opinion on this, because it seems like you really know what you're talking about.”

            “Alright.  Shoot.”

            “Here it is:  Do you think there’s a difference between uh… people with like… a sixth sense or something and crazy people?”

            Sam’s answer was instantaneous and it shocked Dean that he seemed so sure of himself as he said “Of course there is.  When you're insane, you experience things that aren't there.  When you're gifted, you just experience _more_ of what _is_ there.”

            Dean hadn't noticed that Cas was also in the room, leaning against the door and listening carefully to their entire conversation until he cleared his throat and said “I told you you're not crazy.”

            Dean turned to look at him and Cas only cocked his eyebrow at Dean, challenging him to disagree.  It was this look that made Dean remember a very similar conversation they'd had about a year and a half before:

 

            _“I'm not some delusion, Dean.  I'm my own person.  And you're not crazy.”_

_“Says the evidence of my insanity....”_

_“You honestly believe that all you've seen and felt are just schizophrenic episodes?”_

_Dean shrugged, “How could I tell the difference if you are or not?”_

_“I'm not the symptom of an illness, Dean, and you didn't make me up.  Why is it so hard to believe I'm real?”_

_“Because everyone else tells me you're not!”_

_Cas shrugged easily, “They're wrong.”_

_Dean slumped in defeat.  “I wish I could believe that.  I really do.”_

_“Then find proof, Dean.  You can't be the only person who's ever lived who can see spirits and read people.”_

_“There are stories....” Dean admitted._

_“Then read them.  Read everything you can find._ Then _tell me I'm not real.”_


	11. Movie Night

 

Life went on.  Dean built himself a solid routine in the next couple weeks, and he followed it to the tee.  He went to class, he did his homework, he did extra research in the library.  In any free time Dean had, he either hung out with Cas, usually taking long walks around campus with him, or he relaxed in the dorm, where he and Sam were actually starting to become friends.  Dean could talk with Sam about some of the deep questions he had without giving himself away.  It was lucky circumstances that allowed them to speak of such things as life after death and magic without Dean sounding like a complete freak.  Dean told Sam that his double major intersected in just such a place where these questions were crucial to his particular research: various belief systems from around the world and their commonalities, as well as modern psychological applications of such beliefs.  Dean kinda thought that as a philosophy major, Sam really got a kick out of him. 

 

* * *

 

 

            The next time Sam offered Dean a chance to see a movie with him and some friends, Dean agreed and ended up watching… what else?  A romantic comedy.  Girl meets guy.  They fall in love.  Hijinks ensue.  They are separated.  Then they have to come up with a very clever way of getting back together again so that they can have their own Happily Ever After.  Dean munched popcorn and chugged soda throughout the whole thing, nervously shooting glances to his left where a seemingly unoccupied theater seat was actually filled with Cas, who watched the whole movie with his brows furrowed in deep concentration.  His hair was messy as usual and he sat with his feet on the seat, knees pulled up to his chest.  He murmured to himself every so often, comments on the plot, questions for the characters.  Dean ignored the voice in the back of his head that whispered the image was endearing.

            Of course no one noticed, and by the end of the show Dean decided that it had gone well, and he vowed not to be so twitchy the next time around.  He declined Sam’s invite to ice-cream after and instead walked back to McKinley with Cas rambling about the movie the whole trip.  “Why didn’t we ever go to the movies back home?  I forgot how much I like the theater.”

            Dean sighed.  “We never went because the movies cost money I never had, and also it's not real fun to go by yourself.”

            “You wouldn't have.  I would have gone with you.”  Cas, strolling along next to Dean with his hands shoved in his pockets, frowned in concentration and focused his energy on kicking a pebble out of his way. 

            “Yeah, well... they all thought I was weird enough back in that place anyway.  I didn't figure there was any sense in giving them just one more reason to ostracize me.”

            “I guess you're right.”  Cas was silent for a moment, thoughtful, before he said “I like Sam.  He's a good friend, Dean.  Not like those other guys you were hanging out with.”

            Dean shot Cas a look “How do you know what those other guys are like?”  Cas turned his eyes away and Dean stopped, crossing his arms, and turn to face him.  “Cas?”

            “Yes, Dean?”  He asked innocently, still avoiding Dean’s gaze.

            “Have you been spying on them?”

            “No....”

            “Cas!”

            “What?”  He demanded indignantly “I didn't 'spy' on them.  I was merely trying to decide what kind of people they are.  And I don't like them.  They're not very nice.  Especially that Gordon person.  He treats the others like they're his servants, and he has a mean look about him.”

            “What are you talking about?  He's a bit stuck up, but he wasn't really mean.  Just used to getting his way, I guess.”

            “Well he's apparently settled into his role here because he's mean now.  He has the look of someone who means harm.  Sometimes I feel almost as if he can sense me, too.”

            “That's ridiculous, Cas.  No one else has ever been able to sense you, except on a few rare occasions when you really wanted them to.  Were you trying to get Gordon to see you?”

            “Of course not!  But I'm telling you, Dean, there is something off about him.  Just promise you won't hang around with them anymore.”

            Dean shrugged.  “Sure.  Fine.  I wasn't planning on it anyway.  I really embarrassed them at that party, so I don't think I'm exactly at the top of their favorites list right now.  I don't have to worry about any more invites from them, trust me.”

            “Well that's good,” Cas decided, giving a firm nod, “Sam is much more our kind of person, anyway.”

            “Our kind of person?”  Dean asked, amused.

            “Yes.  Open-minded.  Thoughtful.  Kind.  I'm glad you have such a good roommate.  Someone who will watch out for you during those times when I am not there.”  Cas’s expression suddenly changed, became a bit harder, and Dean wondered if he was still disappointed in himself for having been away during that first week, when Dean had needed him.  During the horror of the only frat party Dean ever intended to visit.  Neither of them had to say anything more to know that the conversation was over.  Their thoughts had turned down different, and darker, roads.

 

* * *

 

 

            _Cas watched Dean push himself through day after day, hunting, hunting.  He never gave up.  Dean would pile stacks of books around himself and devour them in mere hours.  Cas could not read that fast.  He wondered if it was a natural talent of Dean’s, or if it was pure desperation that drove him so.  He would not relax.  Dean was determined to find the answers he sought, though Cas wasn’t sure if it was to reassure himself, or in some misguided attempt to reassure Cas._

_Cas found himself thinking: I need no reassurance.  I know all I need to know about our situation.  But part of Dean is still fighting against himself, and against me.  It will not believe.  It believes the lies that his parents told.  That his family and those... doctors... told him.  That he is not right.  He is sick._

_Cas did not know hate before he hated them.  He learned things. He was always learning.  That was a hard lesson, but Cas had held it close to his heart since he learned it.  Cas didn’t need anyone else's approval.  Dean was all that mattered.  And while Cas would love to tell Dean to calm down, to force him to rest, it would be pointless.  This was something Dean had to prove to himself, for his own peace of mind.  There are some things that others cannot tell you.  As Dean would say, this was something he had to square with himself._


	12. Dean Winchester is a Whack Job

_DEAN WINCHESTER IS A WHACK JOB._

The message was scrawled across the mirror in black sharpie in the men’s bathroom up on the fourth.  Dean had gone to take a shower after finishing a paper late in the evening, and as he'd strolled into the bathroom, that was the first thing he'd seen.  Then he'd noticed the trio  standing next to the sinks, heads bent, chuckling.  They looked up when Dean slammed the bathroom door shut, and he recognized them as Luke, Zach, and Uriel: Gordon’s cronies.  They all stared at each other for a few tense moments before Dean growled “Who did this?”

            The guys shared a smug look before Luke said innocently “How should we know?  It was there when we came in.”

            Zach frowned, saying “God Dean, this is just terrible.  Do you want help getting rid of it?”

            Dean just stared at them in silence, his arms folded tightly over his chest, until the tension grew too uncomfortable for them.  They shifted uneasily, and then they gave up and filed out of the bathroom, Uriel’s shoulder knocking into Dean’s as they left.  As soon as they were gone, Dean locked the bathroom door and grabbed a wad of paper towels from the dispenser.  He scrubbed at the marker to no avail.  He kept the door locked as he showered hastily, scrubbing his hair and body roughly enough that his skin was too-pink when he stepped out of the shower.  His hands were shaking with anger as he hastily pulled on jeans and t-shirt.  Dean twisted the lock open and stormed back to his room, opening and shutting the door viciously.  He threw his shower bag down and unpacked it with rushed, shaky movements.  Cas had been sitting at Dean’s desk, but he rose and came to Dean, concern written on his features.  Sam also turned his attention away from his computer, brows furrowing, and asked “Hey man, are you alright?”

            “No.”  Dean said tightly, curling his hands into fists. 

            Sam shifted uneasily, cleared his throat.  “Uh… okay.  What happened?”

            Now Sam and Cas both looked uneasy.  Dean clenched his jaw so hard his teeth hurt and  gritted out “Someone wrote 'Dean Winchester is a whack job' on the mirror.  In sharpie.  Can you believe that shit?”  Before Dean had a chance to add anything else, Cas disappeared, his eyes hard.

            “No way,” Sam said, his eyes wide, as he pushed himself away from the desk and strode over to Dean.  Dean tensed at his approach, but apparently Sam either didn't notice, or didn't care, and a second later, Dean was enveloped in a hug.  “That sucks, man.  Do you know who it was?”

            Dean stood there, shell-shocked at being touched, for a long moment before answering “Not for sure, no.  But I have a pretty good idea who it could be.”

            Sam took a step back and looked into Dean’s eyes, assessing for a moment before he said, “We should report this, Dean.”

            “No.”  Dean said, shaking his head.  “It's not important.”

            “It is, though.”  Sam paused, and in that moment, when his eyes met Dean’s, Dean knew Sam had been keeping something from him.  Sam felt sad, and ashamed, though the shame was not his.  He also felt a fierce protectiveness for Dean.  The whirlwind of emotions nearly knocked Dean on his ass and he had to look away.  “Look, Dean, I didn't want to say anything before because I was hoping they'd just stop, but some of the guys have been saying things about you.  I told them it was all lies and that they needed to stop or I'd report it, but I guess they decided not to listen.”

            “What have they been saying about me?”  Dean asked warily, suddenly terrified that some of it might be true.

            “Stupid things.”

            “Like what, Sam?  Come on, man, don't hold out on me.”

            “It's so mean, though.”

            Dean snorted. “I'm a big boy.  I can take it.  What have they been saying?”

            Sam shifted on his feet, ran a nervous hand over the back of his neck.  “Just that you're crazy.  That you're into all sorts of weird shit.  Some of them were saying that's why you have no friends, is because you're... well... a whack job.”

            “Is that it?”  Dean asked tightly.

            “That's most of it.  But look, Dean, we should report this to the RA at least.  That's harassment and slander, and they have no right to do that to you.”

            “I don't care what they say or do.  It's not true.  I'm not crazy.”  Dean mumbled, mostly for his own benefit.

            “That's what I told them.  And I should know, since I live with you.”  Sam sighed.  “You need to report it.”

            “I'm not going to.”  Dean retorted, stubborn.

            “Fine.  Then I will.”  And with that, Sam left the room.  A second later, Cas appeared in the spot Sam had vacated, his face a mask of righteous anger.

            “They're all laughing about it.”  His voice, usually a warm rumble, was now hard and unyielding.

            “Who?”  Dean asked half-heartedly.

            “Those…boys... those boys of Gordon's.  They are the ones who did it.”

            “I don't care.”

            “I do.”  Cas was so angry he was shaking and his eyes were nearly glowing.  That was never good, so Dean laid a firm, steadying hand on Cas’s shoulder, squeezing lightly.  “Just say the word, Dean,” Cas growled.  “Please.”

            “No.”  Dean said firmly.  “Leave them alone.  It's not important what they say.  I've learned my lesson where they're concerned.”

            “I don't like it.”  Cas glanced around the room for a moment before refocusing his bright blue eyes on Dean’s “Where is Sam?”

            “He went to report it to the RA.”

            Cas visibly deflated, sighing.  His eyes were still hard, though, when he said “Good.  Maybe they'll be punished.”

            “I doubt it.”

            “I'm not happy about this, Dean.  Let me do something about it.”

            “No.  It's not the end of the world, Cas.  It's just words.  I'll live.”

 

* * *

 

 

            Frustration.  That pretty much characterized the next couple weeks.  Dean was growing very tired of the whisperings he heard as he passed down the hall and the petty scathing remarks that weren't even hidden behind hands.  So some of the guys didn't like Dean.  So what?  He didn't like them either.  And they were wrong.  Dean figured that's what made him the angriest.  He'd been through this shit before.  High school had been hell.  They'd tried to tell Dean that he was crazy there, too.  They'd made him doubt himself, doubt all that he knew.  They'd pushed Dean so close to the edge that he'd even begun to think that Cas wasn't real.  That he was a figment of Dean’s imagination.  He'd almost believed them.  Dean had doubted everything he'd seen and done in his whole life, but Cas had pushed back at him.  He wouldn't allow Dean to cave in to them like that, and he'd argued with Dean on every score.  He'd told Dean to find his own answers.  So he had.

            Dean’s senior year had been one giant research project.  He'd learned all sorts of things simply by going out of his comfort zone and doing some hardcore, in-depth research.  He'd started by immersing himself in studies of the mentally ill, specifically schizophrenics.  Dean had learned a lot of disturbing things, including how people with this illness believed they saw and heard people who weren't really there.  However, this illness usually struck when the patient was a teenager or young adult.  There were extremely few cases of child schizophrenia, and none that Dean could find where the patient had been born with the disorder.  There was paranoia and bi-polar disorder, but Dean didn't fit into either of those descriptions.  So Dean took Cas's advice and broadened his horizons.  He began to look into such things as spirits and psychics, and though Dean was loathe to accept any of what he read, some of it rang true.  Dean delved into histories and studies of culture and read about people called witch doctors, medicine men, shamans.  Mediums.  Psychics.  Something Dean found incredibly interesting about all of these sources was that in all cases, the people being studied claimed to be able to see and commune with spirits.  Some of them even had a specific spirit who was a constant companion, a Guide.

            Dean had made a kind of peace with himself then.  He'd stopped acknowledging anything out of the ordinary in his life, and when the doctor had asked if he'd had any episodes, Dean had lied through his teeth and said that he was cured.  That he'd decided to move on from his childish ways and embrace responsibility and adulthood.  No more invisible playmates for Dean.  No more shying away from historic places.  No more claiming to know how other people were feeling.  Nope.  He was done.  Or so he’d told the doc.

            Dean told Cas what he'd learned, and that he believed him.  That Dean was sorry he'd ever doubted Cas.  Cas had been Dean’s constant companion since he could remember, and he'd never done anything to harm Dean.  Dean vowed that they'd get out of there; he had less than a year left of school and then they could move away.  Dean decided to study culture and the mind in college, and told Cas he'd use the university resources to try to figure out exactly what they were, and how they fit into the world.  It was a shaky kind of peace, but it _was_ peace.  Dean had made up his mind that if he could not be sure for himself, he could at least be sure for Cas.  Dean owed him that.  Dean couldn't imagine an existence where the only person who could see him tried to tell him he wasn't real.  Dean had done that to Cas, and he knew it hurt, so Dean had decided then and there that he would never hurt Cas again.  He'd embrace what he was, and he would quit with the lies.  That had given Dean the power to leave his home and move across the country for college.  It had given him the hope that Cas would follow and together they could figure themselves out.  Dean could finally make peace with himself.

            And it had seemed like that plan was going to work, until a bunch of dicks had decided to take it upon themselves to start telling anyone who'd listen that Dean Winchester was a nutcase.  In reality, if that were all, Dean could have cared less.  But they didn't stop.  Dean thought back to his first week of college, when he'd been a wreck with worry about Cas and Sam finding out about him, and how he'd clung to their invitation like a life raft.  They'd taken him to a party and there he'd been confronted with one of his greatest fears, and Dean had given the only warning he could to those people.  They'd chosen to ostracize him because of it, and he didn't care.  He hadn't embarrassed Gordon enough to justify his reaction.  He was treating Dean like they were mortal enemies, like Dean had started a blood feud.  Which was ridiculous.  Besides, he'd been drunk enough that he shouldn't even have remembered the details of the night.  Something just wasn’t right.

            Dean could have moved on.  He could have ignored it.  Except that apparently Cas couldn't.  Every time he heard a comment about Dean, he bristled and Dean could tell his frustration was only growing.  Thank God for Sam.  He was a good roommate, which was lucky.  Dean shuddered to think what Cas might have done if Sam had been among those tormenting Dean.

 


	13. Unwell

          

 

             Dean breathed in the fresh, cool autumn air as he strolled toward the anthropology building at the other end of campus.  It was the middle of October, his favorite month of the year, and the air had the quality of change to it: funny how the month so representative of dying could make him feel so alive.  But Dean did.  He felt more alive at this time of year than at any other.  The trees around campus were wearing their fall leaves: greens had changed into browns, oranges, reds, yellows, and golds.  Dean would learn later that this time of year is one of the most liminal times in the calendar year.  Change from summer to winter, but in the in-between some other season, autumn, existed unto itself.  It was unique.  The air smelled like change.  Dean tucked his hands into his hoodie pockets, hitched his bag higher onto his shoulder, and hurried along the bike track.  It was the time of day right before twilight.  The sun had not quite begun to set yet, but you could feel it getting ready to start.  Dean reached the anthro building just as the sun started to dip below the tree line. 

             Dr. Shumacker was not in his office, so Dean just slipped his paper under the door, with a note of thanks attached, then headed back the way he'd come.  He spent a few minutes reading the bulletins on the department board, but when he realized that the sun was nowhere to be seen and the sky was steadily darkening, he hurried down the stairs and out of the building.

 

            As Dean bolted out of the building, he was almost clotheslined by an arm that appeared out of nowhere.  Dean dodged, luckily, and came up fast, spinning around, to see just what the hell had almost happened.  He figured it might have been a group of guys horsing around and he'd just gotten in the way, or even a maintenance accident.  What he didn't expect was Gordon standing there in a polo and slacks, hands perched on his hips, giving Dean a death glare.  Dean could no longer contain his anger, grief, and frustration.  “What the _fuck_ is your problem?”  He shouted, taking a step back from Gordon and simultaneously shoving his backpack off his shoulder so it landed at his side with an audible _thunk._

            Gordon chuckled lazily and quirked an eyebrow.  “Dean.”  He studied Dean for a moment, and Dean had the uncomfortable feeling that he'd been doing that a lot lately.  “I just don't like you.”  He whispered, before he lunged at Dean, swinging wide.  Dean kicked his bag out of the way and scrambled back from him.  “Come on, Dean.  Play with me.”  Dean thought he heard a twig snap behind him, and was halfway through the turn when Gordon’s fist came in from his peripheral and landed solidly on his jaw.  The bright flash of pain was closely followed by the shock of rage and Dean threw himself at Gordon.  They tumbled backward, Dean landing on top of Gordon, and Dean wailed on him, throwing every jab he could get, while Gordon cackled and screamed, flashing bright white teeth, and hit Dean back.  At one point, he even tried to bite Dean, but he punched Gordon in the mouth.  Dean was aiming another blow when he felt someone take ahold of the back of his shirt and pull him forcefully backward and up, and then plant him solidly on his feet.  Dean turned with a snarl, ready to hit whoever had interfered, to find Cas standing there, his hands up in defense, panting, and looking not at Dean, but over his shoulder.  Dean spun back around quickly to find that Gordon was now on his feet, but he was not looking at Dean either.  His eyes were fixed over Dean’s shoulder, on Cas.

            Cas moved slowly to the side and Gordon's dark, wild eyes followed him.  “Oh, shit,” Dean whispered and Cas grabbed his hand, hauling him to the side.  Dean scooped up his bag and turned to follow Cas.  In the second it took for him to stoop and grab his things and turn, he saw Gordon's face.  His eyes were cold and calculating, and focused on Cas and Dean’s clasped hands, and then his eyes flicked up to meet Dean’s, almost in slow motion, and he grinned, revealing teeth bloody from the fight.  He blinked, eyes flickering darker for just a moment.  Raised an eyebrow.  And at the time Dean did not understand the wave of horror that threatened to engulf him, but he knew something had gone terribly wrong. 

            Cas and Dean ran all the way back to McKinley.

 

* * *

 

 

            “Well, that hurt like a bitch,” Dean mumbled, rubbing his aching jaw.  Cas made a soft humming sound behind him.  Dean turned to glare at him.

            “What?”  Cas murmured, cocking his head to the side in confusion. “We should count ourselves lucky that we escaped.”  Dean scoffed and turned to walk away, but Cas snagged him, fingers curling around his wrist, and turned Dean back, pulling him tightly against Cas’s warmth.  Dean resisted for only a moment, but then Cas trailed his long, elegant fingers gently across the rising bruise on Dean’s jaw, his touch light and warm in the chill air.  “Does it really hurt that badly?”  Cas asked.  It always amazed Dean that Cas understood physical pain so well when he had no body of his own, but the respect with which he examined Dean attested to his understanding.  Dean was wrong to think he wasn't sympathetic. 

            “I've had worse,” Dean admitted, meeting Cas’s gaze for a moment before turning his eyes back the way they'd come.

            “Hmmm,” Dean could feel the vibration in his chest, which was insane, he thought, since Cas had no breath.  Just another one of those things that they didn't understand.

            “What happened back there, Cas?”

            Cas sighed heavily and drew back enough so that he too could look back the way they'd come.  “I'm not sure.  But he could see me.”

            “I noticed,” Dean  murmured, “But why were you there?”

            Cas’s eyes darkened and he pulled completely out of Dean’s reach.  “I sensed you, so I came.”

            Dean shifted to meet Cas’s eyes, but he refused to look at Dean.  “What do you mean, you sensed me?”

            “I felt your pain, Dean.”

            “How...?”

            “I don't know how.  One minute I was reading, the next, I felt you and then I was there.  What happened anyway?”

            “He attacked me out of nowhere.  I just don't get it.  He seemed like an okay kind of person when I first met him, but now it's like he's just gone off the deep end.  I just don't understand why he hates me so much.  It's not like I was even _that_ weird at the party....”  Dean trailed off as Cas met his gaze and Dean saw the beginning flicker of horror come across Cas’s face.  “Cas.... What is it?”

            “When did he first start acting like this toward you?”  His voice was strained, like he was trying to keep control of himself, but was quickly losing the battle.

            “After the party, I guess.”  Dean shrugged.  “The next time I saw him after that night he just glared at me, and then he started spreading the rumors.”

            Cas started pacing, flicking nervous glances back down the bike path.  “So he only started targeting you after the party.”

            “Yeah, after I embarrassed him.  Why, Cas?  What is it?”

            “After you embarrassed him....”  Cas seemed far away for a moment, then he turned his eyes to Dean’s and did not bother to hide his naked fear.  “After you warned all those kids against speaking with the spirit in the game.”  Dean just continued to stare, unwilling to follow Cas’s train of thought, because it was leading to places Dean was not willing to go.  “What if you were too late, Dean?  What if all your warning did was call attention to yourself?”

            “You think--”

            “That this boy is unwell....”

            “Cas.  You can't mean that Gordon is...”

            “Possessed?  Why not?”

            “It's just.... He can't be!”

            “He saw me, Dean.  More importantly, he saw the two of us together.”

            “Maybe he's always been able to see spirits.”

            “Do you really believe that?”  When Dean slumped in defeat, Cas continued “I don't think it's Gordon who saw me.  I think it's the spirit inside him who recognized me.”

            “Great.  What are we supposed to do about it, then?”

            “We're going to have to figure out a way to exorcise that boy, Dean.  It's not his fault.  If I'm right about this.... Promise me you'll be careful, Dean.  If there really is a malignant spirit inside this boy, then he's after you because you know and understand what's happening.  Promise me.”

            “I promise.”  Dean’s head was still spinning as he headed upstairs to his room.

 

* * *

 

 

 

            “Who's Cas?”  Sam asked as soon as Dean staggered back into the room.

            “What!?”  Dean was instantly wide awake, heart thumping wildly in his chest.

            “Cas.  Who is she?  You were talking about her in your sleep last night.”  Shit.

            “Just someone I knew back home,”  The lie was easy.

            “Oh.  Well, was she an old girlfriend or something?  You sounded pretty intense.”  Dean could feel himself blushing and it only got worse when he heard a soft chuckle come from nowhere.  Dean rolled his eyes and thought for the millionth time in his life that it was damn awkward sometimes the things that Cas overheard.

            Dean cleared his throat and with feigned nonchalance, he glanced at Sam and muttered “Yeah, something like that.”


	14. Research

 

            _“He’s my friend,” Dean clutched his teddy to his chest and looked imploringly up at his mother, wondering why she couldn’t understand._

_“Darling, I don't know what you mean.  Who is your friend?”_

_Dean huffed impatiently and pointed again to the little boy sitting in the corner with his head bowed, tears running down his pale cheeks.  “He is!  I play with him a lot.  And he’s nice.  He’s my friend.”  Dean wanted to give the boy the teddy, but he was too angry with his mother to even move.  She didn’t understand and she was making the boy cry.  “Like Sarah and Michael and Suzie are my friends.”_

_Mary’s forehead creased in confusion.  She seemed to be thinking hard.  Why was it so hard to understand?  The boy was_ still crying _!  Finally she said slowly, “Honey, do you mean your friend is here right now?”_

_“Yeah!  Right there!”_

_She sighed, relieved.  Happy and sad at the same time.  Impatient.  “He is your imaginary friend?”  Now Dean’s mother was smiling at him, but it wasn’t a_ real _smile.  Dean could tell that she didn’t believe him.  Dean couldn’t understand why but he was sure his mother was making fun of him.  “What is his name?”_

_Dean shrugged.  He didn’t know his name.  Neither did the little boy.  Dean didn’t think anyone ever told him his name.  Or maybe the little boy just couldn’t remember it.  It was hard to remember things sometimes, after all.  Dean’s mother looked to the corner for only a moment, then turned back to Dean and said “Okay, honey.  Have fun playing.”  Then she left his bedroom.  She didn’t even ask the boy why he was crying, or try to make him feel better.  She didn’t hug him, or pick him up.  Dean stared at the closed door for a long time, feeling disappointed and angry with his mother.  She always tried to make_ him _feel better whenever he cried.  Why didn’t she love this little boy too?  That was when Dean decided it was up to him, then.  So he walked to the corner and sat down next to the little boy and put his arm around his thin shoulders and gave him the teddy bear._

_“It's okay.  You don't need to cry anymore.  She's gone.”_

_The little boy looked up at Dean and his blue eyes were still watery, still so sad.  He wiped the tears from his cheeks with the backs of his hands.  “She does not love me.”  The little boy whispered._

_Dean didn’t want to lie to the boy, and he didn’t understand either, so he said nothing of it.  He said only, “_ I _love you.  You’re my friend.”_

_“Your friend?”_

_“Yes.”  Dean smiled.  They were alone in the bedroom, his mother would not come back until it was time for a nap, and Dean had lots of toys they could share.  “You’re my best friend.”_

 

* * *

 

 

            “Some of this research is pretty complex,” Dean said, shoving his fifth book to the corner of his desk and then reaching for another from the stack threatening to spill to the floor.

            “What's so complex about it?”  Cas asked from where he was lying on the bed, paging through a thick tome.

            “There are so many different cultures who believe in spirit or demon possession.  And they all believe it happens for different reasons, in different ways, and they all have different ways to deal with it.  They have people in their cultures _specifically_ to deal with it.”

            Cas shrugged, “And what if you _are_ that person, Dean?”  Dean stared back, unimpressed.  Cas sighed like dealing with Dean was just too much.  “What do they have in common?”  He prompted, instead.

            “Big trouble.”  Dean pinched his fingers to the bridge of his nose to fend off an approaching headache.  “I don't know if I can do this.”

 

* * *

 

 

“What ya watchin'?”  Dean could barely tear his eyes away from the television long enough to look over his shoulder at Sam, who'd just walked in the door.  His eyebrows were cocked in amusement—something Dean was steadily getting used to—and he let his backpack slump to the floor in front of the bedroom door.

            “Um...”  Dean mumbled, feeling guilty and awkward.  He turned back to the tv, which was going pretty loud.

            “Oh my God!”  Sam's face twisted into a mixture of amused horror.  He snorted as the girl on the tv let loose a spate of profanity crude enough to make your ears bleed.  “Is this what I think it is?”  Sam snorted again and leaned against the door, shutting it with the weight of his body, keeping his eyes fixed on the tv screen.

            “It's...um... The Exorcist....”  Dean’s attention was dragged back to the screen as the girl's head twisted a complete 360 on her shoulders.  As it snapped back into place and the girl continued to scare the hell out of the priest, Dean blurted “Oh God, it's not really like that, is it?!” before he could think better of voicing his honest-to-God horror.  Sam started laughing hysterically and Dean shot a sidelong-glance to the spot beside him on the bed where Cas's expression matched his.  With Sam's laughter in the background and a pea-soup-covered girl cursing on the tv, Cas shook his head slowly and murmured “Fuck.  I sure as hell hope not.”


	15. Coming Out

 

 

            “So I think we’ve found just about everything we’re going to find in this library.”  Dean muttered as he stretched, popping his back, before slumping back into the secluded library chair. 

            Cas raised his eyebrows and leaned forward in his own seat.  “Well?”

            “Well, looks like we’ve got a few options as far as exorcisms go.  What do you think: should we get the chicken blood, or do you think I should brush up on my Latin?”

            Cas frowned and crossed his arms.  “Is that a real question or are you being difficult?”

            Dean laughed at his friend’s indignant face.  “Honestly, I don’t even know anymore, man.  But you know what?  All the chicken blood stuff sort of gives me the jeebs.”

            Cas frowned even harder.  “Dean.  You will be performing an _exorcism._ Of a dark spirit. And you’re worried about blood?”

            Dean shrugged.  “Say what you want, man.  But it seems skeevy to me.  Besides, I think just saying some Latin mumbo jumbo might be easier in the long run.  I mean really, what am I supposed to do?  Tote around a quart of chicken blood on the off chance that I run into Gordon?”  Dean snorted.  “No thanks.  Everyone already thinks I’m a freak.  I don’t wanna make it worse.”

            Cas nodded.  “So what is this Latin that you will have to speak?”

            Dean flipped one of the books open, squared his shoulders, cleared his throat, and in a deep, steady voice began to intone: “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus….”

 

* * *

 

 

 

            It was midway through November—Dean was starting work on his final projects for the semester, and in his free time he was practicing Latin prayers and reading up on cases of exorcism and all those who had performed them: priests, shamans, medicine men, healers.  He still couldn’t quite wrap his head around the idea that he might be one of these people, but as Cas reminded him almost constantly: it made sense.  Dean had a supernatural awareness of what others were feeling and he could commune with the spirit world in ways that were rare, even among these special types of people.  Not only could Dean see spirits, but he could touch them, and interact with them like they were living people.  He could perceive the spirits with all of his senses when they manifested themselves.  So yeah, maybe Cas had a point. 

            Dean had spent a long day walking around campus so that he could talk to Cas about the things they’d learned recently, but as the sun started to sink behind the trees on the horizon, Dean decided to head back to the dorm. 

 

 

            When he pushed the door open, he found Sam pacing back and forth across their floor, his hair messy like he’d spent the last few hours dragging his hands through it.  Sam stopped mid-stride when Dean stepped into the room.  Dean was man enough to admit to himself that when Sam’s eyes widened and he took in a steadying breath, Dean kind of wanted to bolt.  He wanted to avoid whatever was coming like it was a train to dodge, but unfortunately, he knew he couldn’t keep running forever.  So he closed the door behind himself, dropped his backpack onto his bed, and crossed his arms over his chest before turning to Sam, asking “What’s up?”

            Sam cleared his throat and rubbed a hand through his hair again nervously before starting: “So, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to.  I mean, I'll understand and all if you don't want to talk about it, but I need to ask anyway.”

            Dean sighed. “Sure,” he muttered, looking away “What is it?” 

            “Is Cas a ghost?”

            Dean snapped his head around and stared at Sam, mouth open, eyes wide and unblinking.  Dean wanted to shrug it off, pretend that he didn't know what Sam was even talking about, that it was a ridiculous question, but he couldn’t even seem to close his mouth.

            “I mean,” Sam continued, “That's the only reasonable explanation I can come up with.  Either that, or you're insane, and I really don't think you are.  In fact, the only strange thing about you is that you talk to someone who's not there all the time.”  Dean’s face must have reflected his inner horror because Sam hurried on with his explanation.  “I don't think anyone else has really noticed,” he rushed to assure Dean. “It's just that I live with you and I notice things the other guys probably wouldn't.  Like sometimes I think I hear another voice too, but when I come in you're not on the phone or watching a movie or anything, but you always look really uncomfortable.”  Sam straightened his shoulders and seemed to steel himself, “So yeah, I just need to know if Cas is a ghost and this place is haunted.  It's alright, I can take it.”

            Cas chose that moment to come around the corner, his expression mirroring Dean’s.  “He can _hear me_ sometimes?”  He exclaimed as he strode across the room and headed straight for Sam.  Dean was at a loss of what to do in this situation and made no move to stop Cas when he took up a position square in front of Sam and waved his hand in front of Sam’s face, then paced around him, calling his name.  Sam was still watching Dean warily, waiting for an explanation and had no idea that Cas was currently trying to poke him.

            Dean’s chest felt tight as he sucked in a much-needed breath and prepared to lie.  “Sam,” he began, but Cas cut him off, saying “Do you want him to know, Dean?”

            Dean couldn’t really answer him without revealing the truth of the situation to Sam.  Cas knew that, though, so he held up a hand in understanding and continued, “I know you can't answer me.  But before you answer Sam, think about it for a second.  Do you want him to know?  You live with this boy, Dean.  It might make your life easier if you didn't have to lie about so much and if we didn't have to sneak around even at home.  But I'm not going to convince you one way or another because you're the one who's going to have to deal with the immediate consequences of this.  But I won't be mad if you tell Sam, if you want to.  In fact, now I'm pretty curious as to how he'd react if he learned the truth.”  Cas laughed but the sound was strange in the awkwardly still room. 

            Dean cleared his throat and took a deep, calming breath.  Sam was still waiting patiently for Dean’s answer, a brave look on his boyish face.  “Cas is a spirit,” Dean started, and Sam pointed a finger, shouting triumphantly “I knew it!” before a satisfied grin spread across his face.

            “But he isn't a ghost,” Dean added and Sam’s enthusiasm slid off his face, replaced now with confusion.  “And this building isn't haunted, no matter what the other freshmen say.  Cas isn't connected with a place, he's connected to a person—me.”

            Sam suddenly looked a bit uncertain.  “Wait a second— _he?_ Cas is a _he?_ And if he isn't a ghost, then what is he?  Isn't a ghost and a spirit the same thing?”

            Dean smiled ruefully, knowing that soon Sam was going to understand just how much of a freak Dean really was.  “Ghosts are the spirits of dead people.  As far as we know, Cas was never a living person... at least not that he can remember.”  Cas gave a short, confirming nod, though Sam could not see him.  “He's my Guardian.”

            As soon as Dean said the word, Sam perked up and Dean could see all kinds of fantasies flashing across his face.  He knew he was right when Sam asked “You mean like a guardian angel or something?”

            Dean shrugged.  “Yeah, something like that.  He's always been with me, since I was born, and as far as we know, he always will be.  He, uh… he protects me.”  Dean mumbled.

            Sam smiled: something Dean never thought to witness from someone he told the truth to.  Then Sam glanced around the room, his eyes narrowed.  “Is he here now?”

            Cas was as shocked by Sam’s reaction as Dean, and was staring openly at Sam, shaking his head in disbelief.  “Yes,” Dean said.  “He's actually standing right next to you.”  Sam jumped and looked in the wrong direction.  When Dean laughed, he turned the other way and stared straight at Cas, though Dean could tell he couldn’t see him.

            “He's right here?”  Sam touched the air where Cas was standing, but his hand could not feel him.  “Is he upset that I know?”  Sam wondered, brows drawing tight in concern.

            “Yeah, he's there right in front of you.  And no, he's not upset.  He told me I should tell you, actually.”

            “So all those times when you were talking...?”

            “Yeah,”  Dean admitted awkwardly, “I was in here talking with Cas.”

            “And he's a good spirit?  Like an angel?”

            Cas and Dean both snorted at the same time, then grinned at each other.  “Well, mostly.  He's always good to me, but, uh…he can become...irritated…when he thinks I'm being mistreated.”

            “Wow,” Sam whispered, eyes wide.  “I'm seriously glad I'm a good roommate, then.”  He shook his head, probably at the complete absurdity of the situation.  Then he snapped his head up, eyes fixing on Dean’s.  “So all those times you were talking about Cas, that old girlfriend of yours from home, you were really talking about Cas your Guardian, who is here now?!  Who is a dude?!”

            Dean nodded warily, not liking the direction this conversation was heading.

            “You talk about him in your sleep, you know.”

            Dean could feel his cheeks heating up and Cas suddenly looked too interested in what Sam was saying.  “Yeah....” Dean hedged.

            “What does he look like?”  Sam asked, suddenly sounding like a high school girl at a slumber party.

            Dean shrugged, looking away.  “Uh…‘bout an inch shorter than me, black hair, blue eyes.”

            “Oh my God, really?  And the few references you’ve mentioned, those things were all true too?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Do you guys actually have something going...?”  Despite the shock in Sam’s voice, Dean could see the twinkle of genuine interest in his eye.  Sam was definitely more comfortable with this conversation than Dean was.

            “Um...”  Cas was now staring at Dean, too, but Dean refused to meet his gaze.  “We have a very complicated relationship.”  Dean finished lamely.  Cas shifted restlessly and the muscles in his upper body were suddenly tense.  He paced away from Sam to look out the window and Dean was both relieved and worried by his response.

            “And you can see and hear him?”

            With Cas’s back to him, Dean felt a little braver about saying “And touch him.  For me, Cas is as real as you are.  He has a voice, a scent, body heat.”

            “Sounds hot,” Sam murmured, staring at the spot next to him.  Dean blushed and didn’t bother to inform Sam that Cas was no longer standing there.  Suddenly, though, Sam jerked and yelped “Does he sleep?!”

            “Um...sorta.”

            Sam gave Dean an odd look.  “Where, exactly?”

            Cas refused to meet Dean’s eyes and Dean could swear he was blushing.  He continued to stare out the window.  “Uh… sometimes he’s away.”

            “And the other times?”

            Oh, shit.  “He sleeps here.”

            “Uh-huh.”  Sam said, giving Dean a knowing look and crossing his arms with satisfaction. “And you guys have nothing going?”

            Dean cleared his throat and refused to meet Sam’s eyes.  “Like I said before, it's complicated.  And besides,” Dean added defiantly “He and I grew up together.  We've always slept together.  There's nothing strange about it now.”

            Sam just gave Dean that steady look of his and said “Oh yeah?  Then why are you still blushing?”  And since Dean had no answer to that, he decided to just keep his mouth shut.          


	16. An Unlikely Invitation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sooo sorry for the long wait on this, guys. I'm hoping that from here on out, I'll be able to keep a more reasonable update schedule. Hope you like! :)

           

 

           “Hey Dean, I wanted to ask you something.”  Sam turned from where he’d been typing away at his desk and fixed Dean with one of his puppy-eyed looks.

            Dean sighed, turning to give his roommate his attention.  “Sure, Sam, what’s up?”

            “What are your plans for Christmas break?”

            Dean shifted uncomfortably on his seat—he’d been trying _not_ to think about that question, actually.  The holidays had never been particularly pleasant for Dean.  Usually they involved Dean’s parents uncomfortably faking smiles in front of their relatives while shooting each other worried looks every few minutes, just _waiting_ for Dean to embarrass them in some way.  They’d always gotten Dean gifts—the Winchesters liked to present themselves as average suburbanites—but they’d always been gifts laced with underhanded messages that Dean couldn’t get past.  One year, it had been soccer gear instead of the art set that Dean had requested.  Another year, it had been a three month trial to a kickboxing class instead of the books that Dean wanted.  And always, _always,_ there was the suggestion that Dean should spend the new year trying to get interested in more normal, masculine pursuits.  Even when Dean kept his silence and refused to mention Cas, it was like his name hung on the air between himself and his parents, always there, heavy, threatening.  But Dean was a legal adult now.  He didn’t have to do anything he didn’t feel like doing, and he was done lying about his life to appease his parents.  “I was actually thinking of just staying in the dorms over the break.”

            Sam frowned.  “I know you said before that you don’t really get along with your family but… I mean… not even for Christmas?”

            Dean sighed.  “Yeah, I’d really rather not see them.”

            “So what are you gonna do?”

            A shrug.  “I dunno.  Hang out, I guess.  I think the Student Center is hosting a holiday meal for everyone who is stuck here.  So I might go to that.”

            Sam twisted his hands together, suddenly nervous.  “Would you… uh—would you consider spending part of the break with me and my family?”

            Dean eyed Sam closely, bewildered by the question.  “I don’t need your pity, Sam.”

            Sam held up his hands.  “I don’t pity you, man.  Not at all.  That’s not what this is about.”

            “What’s it about, then?”

            “Well, you’re my friend.  My best friend, really.  And I just don’t want to see you alone for the holidays, when I know my family would be totally cool with you coming to stay with us for a bit.  Besides, I know they’d love to meet you.”

            Dean stared at Sam for a long moment before huffing and shaking his head.  “You really are a weird one, you know that, right Sam?”

            “Why do you say that?”

            “Seriously?  I tell you that I talk with spirits regularly and instead of running for the hills like a normal person, you invite me home for Christmas.”

            Sam smirked.  “Yeah, speaking of, Cas is invited too, of course.”

            Dean’s jaw dropped, and then he snorted.  “You’re definitely the weird one out of the two of us.”

            “So does that mean you’ll come?”

            “I’ll think about it, alright?”  Dean had no idea what he’d done in his life to deserve a friend like Sam, but he sure as hell wasn’t gonna take it for granted.

 

 

* * *

 

 

            “So you are going to spend Christmas with Sam and his family this year?”  Cas asked slowly, his head tilted adorably at a slight angle.

            Dean huffed.  “ _We_ are going to spend Christmas with Sam’s family.  You and me both.  Sam invited you personally, remember?”

            Cas frowned, his eyebrows drawing close.  “I am happy that Sam is so understanding about our situation but I have to admit I’ve found his reaction…surprising.  No one else has every regarded your gifts in such an accepting fashion.  And certainly, no one has ever accepted the idea of _me._ ”

            “I know, Cas.  I know it’s weird.  But we decided to give Sam the benefit of the doubt and tell him the truth, and it hasn’t backfired on us yet.  I mean, what’s the worst that can happen, really?  He tells his family and they decide I’m a nut case.  So what?  Then we just leave.  I’m an adult now, it’s not like they can do anything about it.”

            Cas shot Dean another dubious look, but he chose not to add anything either.

 

* * *

 

 

 

            Noon on Christmas Eve found Dean driving the Impala down the strangely-empty highway, with Cas riding shotgun.  Even without saying it, they both knew the other was nervous about this trip.  Sam had been gracious enough to invite them, but Dean had never really been someone’s guest before, and he wasn’t entirely convinced that he could pull it off.  As always, Cas was Dean’s silent but steady companion.

 

 

 

            Sam’s family lived less than two hours from the university, and they arrived at his house without any issues.  Sam’s house was actually surprising: it was located on the outskirts of a small town, down a gravel road with only a couple other houses.  When Dean pulled the Impala into the driveway, he was sort of shocked by all of the extra space there was.  “Huh,” he muttered, as he climbed from the car and shouldered his duffle.

            Across the car, Cas murmured  “It’s very pretty out here.”

            There were snow-capped mountains in the distance, but no snow on the ground at Sam’s house.  Instead, the two-story was surrounded by long, yellowing grasses and trees that had long-past lost their leaves.  As Dean and Cas walked up the short path to the front door, Dean caught a glimpse of a couple of old rusted cars sitting in the back yard.

           

            The door swung open before Dean could even lift his hand to knock, and he found himself caught in Sam’s arms, being hugged tight enough that it was a wonder he could still breathe.  A moment longer than was probably socially acceptable, Sam finally released Dean and stepped back.  “Hey man, it’s great to see you!  Glad you could make it.”  Sam flashed Dean a grin, and then subtly turned his eyes to the empty space next to Dean before waving him inside.  “Come on in and meet the family.”

 

            Dean had seen pictures of the Singer family in the dorm and he’d heard enough about them from Sam, but he was still surprised when he was enveloped by a warm hug the moment he stepped foot in the kitchen.  Dean suffered a moment of crippling awkwardness before he wrapped his arms around Sam’s mom.  She pulled back after a moment and with a warm grin said “Hiya Dean, it’s great to finally get to meet you.  Call me Ellen.”

            Dean could feel his cheeks coloring and he scratched the back of his head.  “Uh, thanks…Ellen, for having me.  I really appreciate it.”

            She brushed off his thanks with a quick wave of her hand.  “You’re perfectly welcome.  Couldn’t have Sam’s roommate spending Christmas alone in the dorm, could we?”

            Dean shrugged.  “I guess not.”

            Ellen chuckled, a warm, happy sound, and she turned back to the stove where she was cooking something.  “Alright, Sam, lunch is almost done—I’ll bring it out when it’s finished.  You two get outta here now, and go introduce your friend to your sister.”

            Sam rolled his eyes but motioned for Dean to follow him out of the kitchen.  In the living room, Dean was confronted by the sight of Sam’s teenage sister, Jo, perched on the edge of the couch with an X-box remote in her hand, and she was spewing curses at the characters who were mid-fight on the large tv.  Well… this was…unexpected.

            Granted, Dean hadn’t spent a lot of time with teenage girls (especially since all the ones back home thought he was a freak) but he’d always thought they were… different.  Sam cleared his throat.  “Hey Jo, I want you to meet someone. Mind pausing the game?”

            Jo didn’t even turn to Sam, just growled “This son of a bitch is almost done for.  Gimme a sec.”  Before she proceeded to decimate her enemies.  Only after the level was apparently won, did Jo pause the game and stand to face them, a cocky, self-satisfied smirk on her pretty face.  “So you’re Dean, huh?”  She asked, extending a hand.

            Dean took her petite hand in his own and was surprised by her firm grip.  “Yeah.  Nice to meet you.”

            Her smirk only got bigger.  “Likewise.”  She looked between Sam and Dean for a moment before motioning back toward the couch.  “Wanna play?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

            Mr. Singer—Bobby—didn’t get home until later that evening.  He stomped into the kitchen, announcing gruffly “Try to take an early day for the holidays and the customers all think the world is ending.” 

            Dean had been the most nervous to meet Sam’s dad—probably because Dean didn’t have such a great reference for what a healthy father-son relationship looked like, but it turned out that his worry was for nothing.  When Bobby spotted him, he offered Dean a firm handshake and asked “That your Impala outside?”

            When Dean beamed with pride and answered “Yes, sir, it is,” Bobby grinned at him.

            “Well, we’ll have to talk cars before you leave.  Me and a buddy of mine own a restoration shop in town.”

            Dean felt an honest-to-God smile curl his lips and he said “That’d be awesome.”

 

* * *

 

 

            Dinner that night was a raucous affair: they had fried chicken and mashed potatoes with gravy, and green beans on the side.  Serving yourself was sort of a free-for-all.  Jo leaned halfway across the table to snag a chicken leg and when Ellen scolded her using her full name, _Joanna Beth Singer,_ the girl only smiled and dug her teeth into the meat.  Dean was quickly learning that Jo was a little bit of a barbarian, and it both amused and impressed him.  Sam, though, was just as polite as he was in the dorm and he flashed his sister a bitchface at her lack of manners.

            Everyone made small talk throughout dinner and was sure to include Dean in their conversations.  It was nice, actually, and after months of dorm food, a home-cooked meal was awesome.  Dean’s anxiety had slowly drained away throughout the afternoon and now he was happy that he’d accepted Sam’s invitation.

            Throughout the day, while Dean met Sam’s family and enjoyed his time off, he was constantly aware of Cas’s presence.  Cas was always vigilant, watched as Dean was introduced to person after person.  He occasionally murmured commentary to Dean, even though he knew that Dean couldn’t respond, such as “Ellen seems like a very nice woman,” and “What is Sam’s sister _playing?!_ ”  But for the most part, Cas kept his peace and allowed Dean to enjoy being with nice people for a change.  Still, Dean was hyper-aware of the fact that while he was enjoying himself, his best friend, the person he cared about most in the entire world, was lurking around like nothing more than a shadow, unable to interact with people who were finally worth his time, unable to carry a conversation with Dean without Dean being ostracized.  Not for the first time, Dean felt a pang of soul-deep sorrow for Cas, and wondered what the hell kind of cruel God, if there even was one, would put them in this situation.


	17. Hymns

           

 

            Dean woke to the soft vibration of Cas humming from his perch on the end of Dean’s borrowed bed.  Across the room, Sam was still asleep, snoring raucously into his pillows, his too-long limbs spread across the bed that he’d long since outgrown.  The window was still dark and the rest of the house was quiet. 

            Dean shifted slightly under the blankets so that he could look at his friend without giving away the fact that he was awake.  Dean didn’t recognize the song that Cas was humming, but it was beautiful, if not a bit melancholy.  Dean wondered if perhaps it was a hymn, or another old Christmas song that he was unfamiliar with. 

            Dean rarely knew where Cas went when he wasn’t with Dean, but sometimes he picked up strange new mannerisms and knowledge along the way.  Dean never questioned it—perhaps he should have, perhaps it was foolish not to—but it was one of those things that he and Cas just didn’t talk about. 

            “Hey,” Dean murmured, barely louder than an exhale.  Still, his voice sounded too loud in the relative silence of the room.

            Cas raised his eyes from where he’d been contemplating his folded hands and smiled at Dean, though his eyes were shadowed in the dim room.  “Good morning, Dean.  I apologize if I woke you.”

            Dean rolled his head against the pillow.  “Nah, it’s okay.”  He regarded Cas for a moment before asking “What’s that you’re humming?”

            Cas smiled serenely at him—it was an expression he was not used to seeing from his friend.  “It is one of the _Canti Eucaristici_ ,” Cas murmured, voice low so as not to break the spell of calm that hung over the house.

            “Where did you hear it?” Dean whispered.

            “I don’t know.”

            Dean stretched his hand out toward Cas and felt a sense of relief wash over him when Cas threaded their fingers together on top of the blankets.  “I’m glad you’re with me, Cas.”

            Cas smiled down at him.  “Of course, Dean.  Where else would I be?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

           

            The Christmas festivities in the Singer household began when, at 6:30am, Jo burst through Sam’s bedroom door and leapt onto her brother’s sleeping form, singing “Merry Christmas, Sammy!  Now wake your ass up, we have presents!” 

            Sam groaned and griped, and tried to shove Jo off of him while simultaneously trying to bury himself further into the covers.  Jo snatched them from Sam’s body and only snickered when Sam sat up and glared at her with one of his bitch faces.  She quirked a brow at him then turned her attention to Dean.  “You better get up too, unless you want the same!”  Then she bounded out of the room, presumably to wreak havoc on her parents’ peace of mind.

 

 

            Once everyone was awake, there was still some shuffling around while everyone helped themselves to large cups of strong, steaming coffee, courtesy of Ellen.  Only after everyone was supplied with caffeine, did they gather around the tree in the living room, which Dean had seen the day before.  The difference, now, was that it was lit up with strings of lights that glinted off the colored glass decorations that hung on the branches.  It was a fake tree, unlike the real ones that his parents insisted on getting every year, but Dean thought it was perfect anyway.  Dean settled on the couch next to Sam and was surprised when Bobby handed him a gift.  He shifted awkwardly and blushed, mumbling “You guys didn’t have to get me anything.”  They brushed off his protest but Dean didn’t feel better until he felt Cas lay a warm, steadying hand on his shoulder from where Cas stood behind Dean and contented himself to watch the festivities.

            Cas did not often consider himself “happy,” but today he was.  He was happy that Dean was not alone on this day, and happier still that he was surrounded by good people who did not judge him, and who wanted him there. 

 

 

            Sam’s face lit up when he unwrapped Dean’s gift of _Comparative Mythology_ and he clapped Dean gratefully on the back.  It was funny, then, when Dean unwrapped his gift from the Singer family, which was a book on Jungian archetypes.  Jo rolled her eyes at the both of them, as she shredded a package that hid her new Call of Duty game, saying “You two are such geeks, man,” but she said it with a fondness that could only come from a younger sibling.

            The rest of the gifts that were exchanged weren’t elaborate, but most of them were useful, and Dean could _feel_ that they were given with genuine love and affection.  Ellen got a new bathrobe, for instance, forest green and very soft, while Bobby was given a thick flannel coat that made him smile when he unwrapped it.

 

 

 

 

            The rest of the day was spent meandering in and out of the kitchen, helping Ellen to cook Christmas dinner, and picking at the food as it was prepared. 

            Dean was surprised how well he fit in here.  He had expected the whole stay to be awkward, the conversation stilted, but the Singer family was something completely outside of his experience.  When Sam reached for a fresh-baked cookie sometime before lunch, Ellen smacked his hand on the successful retreat, but then she snagged another and gave it to Dean with a smile.  Later, while they were waiting for the ham to bake, Bobby and Dean took a seat on the couch and talked classic cars while Jo and Sam played Jo’s new game. 

            It was comfortable, and it was relaxed, and they were honest-to-God nice to Dean.  He’d never experienced a holiday like it.  Of course, they didn’t _know_ Dean… but Sam did, and he didn’t treat Dean any differently now than he had before he knew about Cas.  He didn’t treat Dean like he was fragile, or slip sly, potentially embarrassing comments into their conversations.  In fact, he didn’t even mention Cas, except for later that night, once they were back in Sam’s room getting ready for bed.  Sam cleared his throat and asked, “So uh… how did it go?  For you… and for Cas, I mean.”

            Cas smiled happily where he sat cross-legged on Dean’s bed and said “Tell Sam that I have enjoyed myself.  He has a wonderful family.”  When Dean relayed his words, Sam blushed and mumbled that it was no problem.

 

 

 

            The next day, Dean tried to leave early, but Ellen wouldn’t let him go without feeding him breakfast, which turned out to be a stack of pancakes, bacon, eggs, and enough coffee to fuel a jet engine.  Bobby was back at work already, and Jo chose to sleep in, but Sam sat next to him and ate his own breakfast with relish. 

            “I’ll see you in about a week or so, man.”  Sam said, clapping Dean on the back as he loaded his duffle into the Impala.  “Take care of yourself.  And, uh,” he glanced over his shoulder to make sure his mother couldn’t hear, “thanks for coming.  You too, Cas.” 

            Ellen snagged Dean before he crawled into the driver’s seat and pulled him into a tight hug, saying “You make sure you bring yourself back soon, hun, ya hear me?”

            “Yes, ma’am.”  Dean smiled.

 

 

 

            When Dean hit the highway this time around, he did so with a warmth in his belly and a lighter heart.  Cas was riding shotgun again, smiling to himself as he looked out the window.  He was happy, Dean thought.  The Singer family proved that there were good people in the world; Sam defied all of Dean’s expectations and still cared for him, despite knowing Dean’s deepest, darkest secret.  For now, everything was good in Dean’s world.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is curious, here is the hymn Cas was humming: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FwDIHi0QaYU


	18. Fade

 

 

            The spring semester started at a crawl.  Dean was still enjoying all of his classes, but he couldn’t shake the steadily growing coil of anxiety in his belly.  It wasn’t just classes.  It was the _not knowing_.  Dean could feel the pressure to do something, but he didn’t know what.  Worry followed him wherever he went, haunting him, slowing time to a torturous drag that Dean couldn’t escape.  Dean was twitchy in his own skin, just _waiting_ for something to happen. 

            Dean hated waiting.  But he wouldn’t let the spirit in Gordon get the best of him.  Not him, no way, never again.  He spent every free moment in the library, looking for more clues as to what he was supposed to do to help Gordon and expel the spirit.  He was manic with the need to do something.  Cas tried to talk sense to him, tried to get him to calm down, but Dean wouldn’t listen.  He pressed onward with the determination of a man who could see the flames drawing nearer. 

            The answer was _there_.  He knew it.  He just had to find it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

            Clouds hung heavy over the university—dark, menacing things thick with unshed rain.  The air was calm, though.  Oppressive in its stillness.  There wasn’t even a breeze.

            It had been brewing all day.  Dean had seen it coming—the clouds rolling in over the mountains.  A streak of lightning flashed bright forks overhead and a sharp crack of thunder followed.  Dean hated this part the most: waiting for the storm to break.

            Dean hitched his backpack tighter on his shoulder and sped up his pace.  Night had fallen hours ago, but Dean had been absorbed in his little corner of the library and hadn’t noticed the time.  The sidewalks were all clear now and the scent of rain sharpened the air.  The muted echo of Dean’s footsteps was smothered by the angry rumble of thunder overhead. 

            Dean took the corner to the library parking lot at a jog, eager to avoid the oncoming rain, but he came to a jarring halt at the sight that greeted him.  A lone, dark figure, waiting for him, and cast in strange shadows from the single flickering street light. 

            When Gordon raised his eyes to meet Dean’s, Dean felt like all the air had been punched from him.  They were solid black.  Dean stumbled back a pace and dropped his bag.  Gordon took a menacing step toward Dean and smirked.  Dean sucked in a ragged breath and began to chant, _“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundis spiritus….”_  

            The sky lit up with another jagged bolt of lightning, and then it began to rain.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

_There was a twisting in his gut, in his very nature: it was as inexplicable as his very existence.  It pulled him, it stretched him, it_ hurt _him, and Cas was frightened.  Cas was not there, and then suddenly he_ was _there.  He felt his feet hit the pavement and the wind whip his hair; it was dark and at first he could see nothing._

_Through a break in the howling of the wind and the pounding of the rain, Cas heard it: a gasp, a gurgle.  He spun.  And fell.  And flickered.  Dean was there, lying in a pool of his own blood in the middle of the parking lot, left cheek turned to the pavement, blood covering his hair and face.  Hand stretched out toward Cas, though he was unconscious now, his fingernails black and bloody.  His clothes torn.  Dean looked smaller than he really was, diminished somehow._

_The panic was jagged ice in Cas’s belly that clawed its way up his throat, pried his mouth open, and released itself as a scream of negation._

_Cas lurched to his feet and stumbled to Dean.  Cas cradled Dean’s face and turned it up toward him; he was alive._

_Fear and rage blazed within Cas, white-hot, and twined into something else that was both and yet neither.  It was stronger, harder, and turning colder._

_He pulsed.  Expanded.  Solidified._

_Cas crouched and scooped Dean into his arms, cradled his limp body against his chest.  Cas could feel Dean’s weight against him as he never had before.  Touch was such a strange thing.  Cas’s reality was his perception.  He knew in that moment that he was the fine line that kept Dean tethered to life, and he was strong for it.  Determined.  Cas prayed that his strength would last._

_Cas clutched Dean tightly to himself, took a quick look to assess where he was at, and then he ran._

_His shoes slapped the sidewalk so hard he could hear the echo.  His breath rasped in his throat.  Cas pushed himself—harder, faster, stronger: Dean’s breath was weak.  Cas could feel Dean’s heart-beat, but it was weak also._

_The distance was too far;_ why _had he agreed to let Dean go alone?  The punishment for such a mistake would never be enough, but it had to wait.  Cas remembered to dodge trees and cars; what he could do, Dean could not.  He could not bear the thought of hurting Dean more through stupid negligence when they were so close.... So damn close...._

_McKinley was a hulking shadow in the night.  There were no lights._ Why were there no lights?! _Cas had no time to dwell on it: he climbed the stairs to the front door.  He had no key.  He could not pass through with Dean in his arms._

_His frustration was more potent than a C4 charge.  The doors blasted open and Cas passed through them, holding Dean tightly to himself.  Up the stairs.  Up, up, up.  He flickered._ No!

_Up another flight.  Dean grew heavier in his arms.  He flickered.  No, no, no!  So close... they were almost there!  The last door barely squeaked open, and Cas pushed through; he was forced to use the weight of Dean's body to do it, to hold the door open.  The very act caused Cas pain!  He was so ashamed!_

_He stumbled the last two steps, and Dean was falling through his arms!  Cas went down with him, flickered, caught him an inch from the concrete floor.  Dean’s breath was so slight: Cas’s was fierce.  Dean’s heart fluttered weakly and so too did Cas’s._

_Cas leapt over Dean and through the door.  He blinked.  He was at Sam's bed, bending over him._

_Cas tried to shake him, but his hands passed through the covers, Sam’s body.  They flickered.  “Sam!”  Cas screamed.  Sam twitched and rolled over.  Cas could feel the seconds slipping past; precious seconds.  Life.  “Sam!”  He didn’t respond.  One heart-beat.  Two.  Cas felt a tearing in his being, a shredding of his very soul.  Desperation at its darkest.  Pain beyond the level of pain that a body can feel.  The scream wrenched out of him, pushing his jaws wide; it was a howl of pain, of need, of utter desperation.  It was a roar that echoed in the room.  “SAM!!!”  Sam snapped upright, eyes flying open in the darkness.  Sam had heard him, finally, but he could not see him.  Cas wasted no time.  He leapt to the door, summoned what was left of his energy, tapped into his very essence.  He drew his leg back, let it fly; it connected with the door hard enough to rattle it on its hinges.  It was all he could do.  Cas flickered._

_Sam crawled from his bed, cautious, eyes squinting in the dark. Cas knew the moment when Sam registered that Dean was not in his bed.  Sam yanked the door open and shouted.  Cas flickered.  He pulsed._

_Sam dashed back to his bedside, grabbed his cell phone, and dialed three numbers.  Pushed send.  He fell to his knees at Dean's side, tilted his head back, and felt for a pulse.  Tears of relief fell down his cheeks when he found one; Sam babbled into the phone._

_Cas’s world blinked in and out.  He couldn’t understand Sam’s words.  He missed parts of them.  Cas shook with the effort of trying to hold himself together.  He needed to know.  He needed to know!  Sam dropped his head to his knees and cried.  Cas flickered.  No!  Not yet!_ He needed to know!

_Cas did not know what made Sam do it.  But Sam lifted his head then.  He did not see Cas.  He could not.  But he told the corridor, voice cracking, “Help is coming,” and then he glanced down again, grasping Dean’s hand in his own and murmured “Hold on, Dean.”_

_It wasn’t enough, but it was what Cas needed to know.  He’d over-extended himself, pushed himself farther than ever before, and he did not know what the price of this would be._

_In the dim light of the dorm hallway, standing over Dean's broken body, Cas flickered._

_He flickered._

_He faded._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are love! :D


	19. Pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes Cas is a scary motherfucker.

 

 

            It hurt to breathe.  It felt like he’d been kicked, over and over again, by a man with metal boots.  Each breath was a new blow.  Dean had to fight through the waves of pain and the heavy morphine to surface from unconsciousness.  He could taste the medication, still... or was it blood on his tongue?  It was almost sickly sweet. 

            Even through the fuzziness of the drugs, Dean knew he was hurt bad.  Broken. 

            Dean tried to move, but he couldn’t seem to make his body obey.  He felt like he was clawing his way up out of a grave.  His air was running out, and the weight of the soil was too heavy.  Tons between Dean and a full breath of air.  He was suffocating.  _He was suffocating!_   It was so dark, and he was alone, and he began to panic. 

            Somewhere in the distance, Dean heard a beep... and then another.  And another.  A gush of air, the mechanical sound of machines whirring.  He pushed and pushed.  Pulled himself out of the abyss.  Dean’s eyelids flickered.  Opened.

            The room was dim, but not dark.  A white light glowed above Dean, pointed up toward a white ceiling.  Dean took a deep breath, even though it felt like someone was squeezing his ribs until they cracked.  He coughed.  Sputtered.  Inhaled again.  And he tasted the air.  It was cool, sterile.  It smelt of a place where people have died but they don't want you to know it.  To think of it.  And Dean knew.  He was in a hospital.  He _hated_ hospitals. 

            Dean turned his head to the right and could see people dressed in blue and white scrubs moving past a large window.  He caught occasional glimpses of other patients between heavy blinks.  _How did I get here?_   Dean’s gaze traveled across the room and focused on the blur of black that marred the white walls.  It pulsed.  Faded.  Returned stronger, until it took form.

            Cas.  His long, pale fingers were woven, twisted through messy black hair.  Face turned down into shadow.  His elbows were braced on his knees, and he seemed almost to be vibrating.  Dean reached a hand out to him, but he did not see.  Dean watched him shudder.  It wasn’t his imagination, then.  Dean took a deep breath, then, meaning to call out to him, but he choked.  Coughed.  Cas’s head snapped up, eyes bright and wild with alarm.  When his eyes met Dean’s, his hands fell limply from his hair and he was standing in an instant.  Dean blinked and Cas was at his bedside, reaching a trembling hand toward Dean’s face.  But he didn't touch.  “Cas.”  Dean croaked.  Unshed tears reflected the light in Cas’s eyes so that stars shone back at Dean through them.

            “Dean.”

            “Where am I?”

            “You are in the intensive care unit at St. Mary's.”  His voice did not shake, but his throat convulsed.  Dean could _feel_ that it was hard for Cas to hold himself together.

            “What happened to me?  How did I get here?”

            Cas tensed and looked away.  “I found you.  In the library parking lot.  Someone had hurt you... badly.  You weren't conscious and you were bleeding.  So I carried you back to your dorm.”

            “ _How?_ ”  Even through the fog of medication and pain, Dean’s mind was already trying to work out how much effort it would have taken for Cas to do such a thing.  He’d seen Cas struggle to turn a page in a book.

            Cas shrugged helplessly.  “I don't know, really.  I just did it.  But then I just… couldn’t anymore.  I managed to wake Sam up before I ran out of energy.  He called an ambulance for you.”

            “Sam?  Where is he?”

            “He's in the waiting room.  They aren't allowing you to have visitors yet.”  Cas finally looked at Dean.  “We have both been very worried about you.”

            “Cas…how bad am I?”

            Cas’s throat convulsed again as he struggled to keep the tears at bay.  Dean knew because Cas’s eyes shone wetly in the dim lights.  “It's bad, but the doctors say you're going to be alright.  I've been listening to them.” 

            “And?”

            Cas cleared his throat.  “Two broken ribs.  A concussion.  Scrapes and bruises.  You lost a lot of blood, so they had to give you a transfusion.”

            “What?  How the hell did I lose all that blood?  What happened?”

            “It looks like when you fell, you cracked your head on the pavement and you were bleeding....”  Cas must have read the horror on Dean’s face because he rushed into an explanation, “They've already done the CAT scans they wanted, and they said there was no permanent damage.  You have some swelling, but the bleeding was mostly superficial.  If the wound would have been anywhere else on your body, it wouldn't have bled so badly.  They're going to keep you here for another day or two to monitor you, but they said if everything checks out fine, they'll let you go home.”

            “Wow.  I don't really know what to say.”

            “Does it hurt?”  Cas asked, his voice quiet. His lower lip trembled, but he bit it to make it stop. 

            Dean sighed.  “Yeah, sort of….  I mean, I know the pain is there, but it's like whatever drugs they gave me put a wall up so that I can see the pain, but I can't feel most of it yet.”  Talking didn’t seem to hurt very much.  At least, no more than just breathing did. 

            “Someone attacked you when you left the library.  Dean, I've seen the bruises on your body.  Somebody had been kicking you.  We were afraid they'd kicked you... in the head....”  Cas stopped abruptly and looked away.  “I felt your need for me, Dean, and I showed up, but I was too late.”

            “It was Gordon.”  Dean murmured.  Cas pulsed.  He was there, flickered, and then came back more vibrant, more _present_.  “I tried the exorcism, Cas, but it didn’t work.  I don’t know what went wrong, but I uh… I tried to get away.  He was too fast, though.”  When Dean met Cas's eyes, he felt like he had been slapped.  The rage and hatred in Cas’s eyes was palpable.  “Cas... you can't hurt him.”

            “I want to kill him.”  Cas said, voice calm.

            “It wasn’t really Gordon that did this to me, though.  It was the spirit that's invaded his body.  He's as much of a victim as I am, probably worse.  We don't know what's happening to him while this is going on.  We have to help him, Cas.  We have to get that _thing_ out of him.”  Dean had to pause to breathe carefully.  God, it hurt.  “And anyway, you can't kill a spirit.”

            “Maybe not.  But spirits know pain, Dean.  Believe me, I know.”  Cas’s jaw flexed as he ground his teeth together.  “I'm sure I could figure out how to deliver some... I owe him a lot.”  Cas shifted on his feet, straightened his spine.  “And death is not the same as destruction.... I'm going to eradicate this spirit.  _Unmake_ it.”  The blue of Cas’s eyes had turned so dark they were almost black.  Unyeilding. 

            Dean knew there was nothing he could say to help Cas, to make it better, so he decided to say nothing at all.  Instead, Dean reached out and twined his fingers with Cas’s.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

            _They both sat on the ridge, knees pulled up to their chests, arms wrapped around them, staring out into the valley.  There was enough space between them that they could not reach out and touch each other even if they wanted to.  Yet they were close enough to be together.  “I'm afraid.”  Dean was shocked to realize it was he who spoke; he hadn't meant to share his fear aloud—the fear that had been plaguing him for days, even weeks._

_“That's expected.  But you don't have to be.”  Cas murmured._

_“What if it's a mistake?  What if I'm just not good enough?  What if this isn't what I'm meant to be doing?”_

_Cas chuckled, but it is warm, not mocking.  Not cruel.  “Dean, nothing you do or do not do is going to change what you are.”  They did not look at each other, did not touch.  Dean wasn’t ready to accept those things from him yet, and Cas knew it._

_“Are you sure?”  Dean whispered._

_“I am.”  Cas’s deep voice was firm, confident.  “These things you worry about are not so important in the grand scheme of things.  They're merely the details.  The pretty façade.  But the core of you?  That's not going to change.”_

_“Why are you so wise, Cas?”  Dean grumbled.  “It seems like you always know what to say.”_

_“Mmm...” Cas hummed and when Dean chanced a glance his way, he could see that Cas was smiling._

* * *

            Dean woke slowly from the dream…or was it a memory?  When the blinked his eyes open in the bright light of the morning, reality drifted back to him and he realized he was still in the hospital room.  The privacy curtains were drawn around his bed, but he could hear the bustle of the nurses in the hallway just outside his room.  He pushed himself to a sitting position and ran a hand over his face, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

            When Dean turned toward the window, he found Cas sitting in the chair by his bed, quietly watching him.  Cas flashed him a smile, but Dean could see that his friend was still worried.  “How are you feeling today, Dean?”

            Dean rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck.  “Not great, but a lot better than two days ago.  My head is still kind of fuzzy and it hurts like a bitch to breathe, but…uh… I don’t feel like I’m dying anymore.”

            Cas frowned and his brows pinched together.  “I heard the doctor talking to your nurse earlier this morning.  They’re going to release you today.”

            Dean nodded.  “Good.  That’s good.”  He scratched at the back of his head but winced when his nails scraped over one of his cuts. 

            Cas narrowed his eyes at him and said “Dean….”

            Dean smiled.   It was strange, the things that came to you in your dreams, when you finally let go.  “Cas… I know why the exorcism didn’t work.”

            Cas shifted forward in his seat.  “Why?  What went wrong?”

            Dean shrugged.  “I wasn’t strong enough.  But, uh… I think I know what we need to do so I can be.”


	20. Becoming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is so short, but it had to be this way! In order to help, I've made a mix of the songs I listen to while writing this! Give it a shot: http://8tracks.com/miss_grey/netherworld

       

 

          The flames danced; they shivered in the cold air.  The shadows flickered at the edge of the tree line: branches black, clawing, jagged, stretching, snaking toward the center of the light.  The flames lashed them back.  It was quiet out here, except for the sound of the crackling and spitting of the fire, the rustling of the night creatures in the woods, the clacking of the branches when the breeze came. 

           Dean’s heart beat a strong, steady tempo.  He circled the fire slowly, crouched, ready to spring.  The alcohol buzzing in his veins should have disoriented him, but it hadn’t.  He could see, could _feel_ with a definite clarity.  The chill air licked at the skin exposed by his t-shirt, but the heat from the fire countered it.  The flames spit and hissed.  Dean continued to circle.

           Across the fire, Cas mimicked Dean’s movements, circling slowly, his image solid and dark despite the flickering of the fire.  He cast no shadow.  His eyes were illuminated, and it almost looked as though he _was_ fire.  It lived within him.

           Their eyes locked as they circled each other, the fire the only barrier between them now.  Dean’s heart kicked up, pounding.  Slowly, slowly, he let his mental barriers come down.  He breathed deeply of the cold air, and pushed away the pain of his broken ribs. 

           Cas’s face was expressionless, but his eyes were bright and deep and they beckoned Dean in, called for him.  They were tired, but they wouldn’t be leaving the forest anytime soon—not until they’d gotten what they’d come for.

           Cas was solid.  He was strength.  Dean could see himself reflected in Cas’s eyes, and knew that he was too.

           Dean pulled the knife from his pocket and drew it slowly over the palms of both hands, only deep enough to draw blood.  He watched it well to the surface, almost black in the light of the fire.  He dipped his fingers into the pool of it, drew the symbols on his own forehead—they were simple, but powerful—then drew others up the expanse of his arms.  Across the fire, Cas’s eyes were hungry as they followed Dean’s movements. 

           They never knew they wanted this, never knew they _needed_ this until now.  As soon as the symbols were cast, Dean could feel the difference.  A wave of power surged in his blood, and it felt like his eyes opened wider, like he could suddenly see _more_ than what was there.  Across the fire, Cas tipped his head back and moaned.  A shiver ran through Dean. 

 

 

            They call this Walkabout.  Spirit Journey.  Quest.  It is much needed renewal.  Communion with the self and the world.  With Cas.  The two of them had questions they needed answered.  They needed knowledge.  And power.  They needed each other.

             It was a trance.  Dance.  Dean knew Cas would never let him fall.  Why?  Because Cas simply didn’t know how to.  Dean could feel their connection humming through him, sizzling in his veins.  It was more potent than the alcohol, more powerful than the fire.  Dean turned and walked into the darkness at the tree line, melding into the shadows, his steps light.  He didn't have to turn around to know that Cas was following him.  And that he always would.

            They were joining, growing.  Learning to walk between worlds.  Dean sort of thought it felt like becoming.


	21. Taking Names

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright folks, this is the last chapter for part 1 of the series. I hope you all enjoy :)
> 
>  
> 
> PS: Some of my readers were wondering what exactly happened last chapter, since Dean & Cas have always had a connection. This is the closest I can come to explaining: There are many different levels of connection that I will explore in this series. This time, they learned how to amp up their power by sharing it some, or in other words, they learned how to turn the volume up. :)

         

 

 

           Sam stood in front of the door, his broad frame effectively blocking it.  “Look, Dean—I don’t know what’s going on, but I just have this feeling like I should be coming with you.”

            Dean paused in his packing and raised his eyes to his roommate.  Sam’s arms were crossed and his jaw was set.  “No, Sam.  Absolutely not.”

            Sam huffed.  “At least tell me what you’re doing.  I’ve got a bad feeling, man.  And especially since meeting you, I’ve really decided to pay more attention to those feelings.  I don’t like this.”

            Dean stood and put his hands on his hips.  “It’s complicated.”

            Sam snorted.  “Yeah, okay, I’m sure it is.  But come on!  I can handle it.  I was cool after you told me about Cas, wasn’t I?  Do you think I can’t handle this or something?”

            “It’s not about that, Sam.  It’s just… something I have to do alone.”

            Sam rolled his eyes.  “What about Cas?”

            “Alone… with Cas.  You know what I mean.”

            “You don’t think I could help you.”

            Dean narrowed his eyes.  “No.  I don’t.  Not with this.”

            Sam’s mouth dropped open.  “That hurts, Dean.  I thought we trusted each other more than that.”

            Dean gave a curt nod of his head.  “Yeah, well… I’m known to fuck things up.”  He finished packing his bags, eyes focused on the task to avoid glancing at the guy who he’d begun to count as his best friend.  However, when he slung his bag over his shoulder and made to leave, he found that Sam was still barring the door.  “Uh… Sam… you gonna let me leave now?”

            “You think just because you wanna throw our trust away, that I’m just gonna leave you to it?  You’re a stubborn son of a bitch, Dean, but so am I, and I’m not letting you walk out of here until I know what’s going on. Or else I’ll just follow you, and likely fuck something up for real.  Your choice.”

            Dean frowned, utterly frustrated and confused.  Still reclining on the bed, Cas shrugged his shoulder and smirked at Dean.  “You know, I really like Sam.”

 

 

 

 

            Sam gaped.  “What do you mean, _possessed_?!”

            Dean sighed and ran a hand through his hair in frustration.  “Exactly what it sounds like, Sam.  Gordon is being possessed by an evil spirit.  Has been for a while, now.  The thing is seriously strong, and seriously evil, and it’s the thing that landed me in the hospital.  But me and Cas have been working on it and we know how to get rid of it now.  I’m gonna exorcise the son of a bitch.”

            “We’re going to destroy it.”  Cas growled, blue eyes dark with the rage swirling within him.

            Dean shuddered.  “Yeah, Cas.”

            “What did he say?”

            “We’re gonna destroy it.  Not just exorcise it.”

            Sam’s eyes widened.  “You can do that?”

            “Pretty sure we can.”

            “You mean you don’t know?”

            Dean rolled his eyes.  “Well, it’s not like I’ve done a whole lot of exorcising in my time, ya know?  Up until recently, I just thought I was crazy.”

            “I wanna help, Dean.  Please, just let me help.”

            Cas folded his arms over his chest, black t-shirt stretching tight.  “It might be good to have him near, Dean.  Just in case.”

            Dean’s shoulder slumped and he ran a hand down his face.  “Fine.”  He pointed at Sam.  “Cas says you can come, but ONLY for back up, you hear me?  No being a hero, capiche?”

            Sam gave a curt nod.  “Got it.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

            The forest clearing was empty except for the pile of cold ash left over from the fire they’d burned two nights before.  Sam stood to the side, nervous energy rolling off of him, his eyes darting at every slight sound.  “You sure this is gonna work?”  He asked, voice quieter than usual, as if he was afraid to actually speak.

            “We’ll find out soon enough.”  Dean mumbled.  He continued painting the marks onto the earth with the chicken blood he’d picked up from the butcher earlier.  The man had given him a weird look, but handed it over never the less.  Dean and Cas had realized, after their…bonding ceremony, or whatever, that blood really was the best supernatural conductor that they had access to.  And they were about to pull some serious magic…or hoodoo, or whatever you wanted to call it. 

            Cas stood close to the symbol, but eyed it warily, his toes scuffing the earth nearby nervously.  “It will work.”  His voice was even gruffer than usual.

            “Yeah?”

            He canted his head slightly.  “I can feel the power in this symbol already, and it isn’t even meant for me.”

            “Good.”  Dean said grimly.  “I hope it packs a hell of a punch, too.”

            “It won’t.  That’s not its purpose.  But you will.  _We_ will.”  Again, Cas’s voice reminded Dean of just how dangerous his Guardian truly was.

 

 

            A few moments later, Dean stood back, wiping his hands on his jeans and smiled down approvingly at his work.  “Alright, all done.”  He pointed towards Sam “Stay quiet, and stay out of the way.  No matter what you see or hear, okay?  Remember—back up only, and only then if I’m knocked unconscious or something, you hear me?”

            Sam gave a sarcastic salute. 

            Dean rubbed his hands together and glanced sideways at Cas.  “You ready to do this?”

            “Yes.”

 

 

            Dean closed his eyes and thought back to his last confrontation with Gordon and the spirit possessing him, back to the night when he’d been beaten to within an inch of his life and left for dead in a parking lot.  He could sense the evil hiding within Gordon—it gave Dean chills to even think about it, to remember the dark eyes, devoid of humanity. 

            He fixed his mind on that sensation now, and concentrated as hard as he could.  Slowly, the feeling washed over him, skittered along all of his nerves, and he held on tight, pulling it close.  Then he began to chant the words he’d found in the book of summoning rituals.  It was a language he didn’t know—a language Cas didn’t even understand, but as the ancient words passed from Dean’s lips, he could _feel_ them, could feel the magic they called forth.  Cas moved closer to him, so that their hands brushed, and Dean felt an extra jolt of power: that had been happening since their night in the woods.  It was the sort of jolt you got from licking a battery, only magnified.

 

            He repeated the words, over and over.  Time had no meaning—he was barely even aware of its passing.  He could feel the spell working. 

 

            The sound of Sam gasping shook Dean from his trance finally, and he opened his eyes to find Gordon standing in the middle of the bloody circle he’d drawn in the clearing, face contorted with hostility, teeth bared.

            “ _You dare,”_ He hissed, leaping toward Dean.  Dean stood firm, though, and Gordon bounced off an invisible barrier at the edge of the circle.  His eyes widened and he seemed to vibrate for a moment.  “I’ll kill you for this.”  Cas took a step forward, then, and Gordon’s dark eyes focused on him.  “ _You_.”  Gordon grinned, then.  “It felt _real good_ to feel your boy break underneath me.  To feel the crunch of his bones, and to have his blood on my hands.”  He chuckled.  “ _Dean._ ”  The word sounded perverse on Gordon’s tongue.  “He cried for you, you know.  He tried to get to you.  But I wouldn’t let him.  I was too much for him.”  Gordon shifted  and took another step forward, so that he and Cas were close enough to touch, if one of them would only stretch their hands over the bloody barrier.  “And where were you while I was having my way with him?  Playing with him?  _Killing_ him?”  He tipped his head back and laughed again, and the sound caused goosebumps to spring up on Dean’s arms.  “Dean and me… we had a _real good time._ ”

            “What is your name?”  Cas growled.

            Gordon smirked then, and quirked a brow.  “Oh… that’s the game you want to play, big boy?  You haven’t even bought me dinner yet.”

            “Your name?”

            “Eat me.”

            Dean cleared his throat.  “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus…”  Gordon took a staggering step back from the barrier, his eyes flashing solid black.

            Cas glowered.  “Your name, spirit?”

            Gordon fixed his eyes on Dean.  “You don’t have the juice to pull me outta this meat suit, boy.”

            “Not just pull you out.  We’re sending you to Hell, you son of a bitch.”

            “You think Hell bothers me?  Go ahead, amp me up.  If you’ve got the cajones for it, Deany boy.”

            “Omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversii….”  Gordon jerked back like he’d been hit, and a growl ripped from his throat.

            “Name.”

            “Satan.”  He snarled.

            “Name.”  Cas edged right up to the barrier, and Dean could feel the energy just buzzing off of his skin.

            “Lucifer.”

            “Omnis congregatio et secta diabolica,”

            “Name.”

            “Legion,” Gordon hissed.

“Ergo, draco malidicte ecclesiam tuam.  Secura tibi facias libertate servire, te rogamus, audi nos.”

            Gordon laughed, his voice deeper now, and it sent chills down Dean’s back.  “Is that the best you’ve got, _Dean,_ you little _bitch_?”  He charged the barrier again, right in front of Dean, teeth snapping at the air just inches from Dean’s face, eyes still solid black.  “When I get out of here, I’m going to tear your face off, I’m going to dig my fingers into your chest, and rip your still-beating heart from your body, do you hear me?  I’m going to shred your precious soul, and take it with me!”

            Dean swallowed thickly and began the chant again, his hands shaking.  Cas shuffled closer and laid a steadying hand on Dean’s shoulder, and a wave of heat washed through Dean, bringing with it extra strength.  His voice was louder, stronger, more sure, now: “ _Exorcizamus te,”_ He chanted.

            Gordon licked his lips and swung his eyes to Cas.  “No… I changed my mind.”  He leered at Dean.  “I’m gonna wait until you’re weak, Dean, when you least expect it…”

            “ _Omnis immundus spiritus,”_

Gordon flinched.  “I’m gonna slip right inside you… I’m gonna take _you,_ Dean.  Make myself right at home underneath your skin.”

            “ _Omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversii,”_

Gordon was shaking now.  “Oooooh, Dean…”  He bent over and retched.  “The things I’m gonna make you do.”

            “ _Omnis congregatio et secta diabolica,”_

“And you’ll be _aware,_ oh, I’ll make sure of that, sweetheart.  I’ll make sure you can see and feel _everything_ I do with your body.  I’m gonna make you _scream.”_

            “ _Ergo, draco malidicte ecclesiam tuam.”_

Cas’s eyes narrowed and he clenched his fists.  Gordon glanced up at them through his lashes and laughed between coughing fits—blood dripping from his mouth now.  “And _you…_ I’m gonna make you watch everything I do with your boy.”  He grinned, flashing his bloody teeth.  “And between you and me, I plan on doing an a _wful lot_ with him.”

            Cas’s fingers tightened on Dean’s shoulder, and Dean felt another flash of power.  Cas’s outline seemed to pulse for a moment, and then he growled  “ _Name!”_   And even Dean felt it like a physical blow.

            Gordon doubled over, screeching, before he fell to his hands and knees.  He shook his head frantically.

            “ _Te rogamus_ ,”

            “ _Give me your name!”_

Gordon tipped his head back and laughed maniacally, blood dribbling freely from his mouth and down his chin.  Dean clenched his fists at his sides, and it was almost as though he’d squeezed Gordon.  The man howled, and the word was wrenched from his throat in an unearthly gasp, a sound that shook Dean to his very core.  “ALASTAIR!”

            Cas’s dark eyes glittered, and power rolled through his voice, when he intoned “Alastair, ego expulsa vos.”

            Dean gritted his teeth.  “ _Audi nos!”_

Suddenly, Gordon’s head snapped back at a painful-looking angle, and he screamed—a cloud of black smoke ripped from his throat and filled the air for one heart-stopping moment before slamming into the earth with enough force to knock Dean off his feet.

 

           

            Dean lay on the ground, in shock, his whole body quivering from exhaustion.  He blinked, and when he opened his eyes, both Sam and Cas were leaning over him, worried frowns marring their faces.  Dean pushed himself up, though, and the other two stepped back.  “I’m okay,” Dean murmured.  His head felt like it was going to split in half, and he felt utterly drained, but he was alive, and right now, that was enough for him.

 

            Gordon lay crumpled in the circle, blood still leaking from his mouth.  Dean cast Cas a questioning look, but Cas simply nodded, and Dean exhaled.  Dean scuffed the blood on the ground, effectively breaking the circle.  He wobbled on his feet, and fell to his knees when he reached Gordon, unable to hold himself up any longer.  Dean checked his breathing and his pulse, and let out a relieved breath when he found that Gordon was still alive.  “Thank God,” Dean whispered, closing his eyes.

            He rolled Gordon over and pulled him close, so that Dean could look down at him.  Dean flashed a worried look at Cas, but a moment later, Sam was crouched next to them, and he was pressing a bottle of water to Gordon’s mouth. 

            Gordon sputtered and coughed, and then slowly, his eyes flickered open and he groaned.  He blinked a couple times, confused, and looked around himself.  “D-Dean?”  He struggled to sit up so Dean helped him.  “What happened?  How did I get here?”

            Cas laid a hand on Dean’s shoulder, and it gave them both comfort.  Dean smiled at Gordon, feeling a wave of relief wash through him.  He looked Gordon in the eyes, happy to see they were an earthy brown again.  “You were sick, man.  But, uh… everything’s gonna be okay now.  I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I left you hanging here, but never fear, the next part of the series, Haunted, will be forthcoming :)

**Author's Note:**

> This came out of nowhere and hit me like a train. Let me know what you think?


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